Severus and Selda
by rhien
Summary: AU: In his fourth year at Hogwarts, part-vampire Severus Snape meets Selda Yewmarsh, and his life is never quite the same. *** Angst/Friendship/Romance, all quite dysfunctional. (Part 1: Marauder era, Part 2: pre-Harry and Year 2.)
1. Part 1 - Chapter 1 - Meeting

_**Part I**_

**Chapter 1**

It was nearly the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts when Severus Snape first met Griselda Yewmarsh. True, they had been in the same House ever since she had arrived a year after him, but they never really spoke till the day that he saw her in the corridor, wand out, facing a couple of fifth year prefects from Gryffindor. A Hufflepuff girl, probably first year, leaned against the wall nearby, looking dazed.

"Don't think we'll buy that story, Yewmarsh," one of the prefects, a tall boy, was saying. "All the prefects know that you've been getting into fights all year. And you know there's no magic in the corridors. Slytherins think it's funny to jinx first years between classes, now?"

Snape gritted his sharp teeth – Gryffindors, so unfair, it was classic – and approached. The girl – Yewmarsh – was short, plump, with long dark hair. The green Slytherin badge was visible on the bag she had slung across her back. Her hand clutched her wand so tightly it shook a little.

"I didn't jinx anyone," she snapped. "Peeves was going to trip her, she was going to fall down the stairs, I just stopped him."

"By what, shoving her yourself?" scoffed the other prefect. "Nice try. I don't see Peeves anywhere around here."

The girl's face was red. "He zoomed off," she muttered.

"But you did shove her?" the prefect asked sharply.

"I… I grabbed her. And pulled her away from the staircase."

"Right. Did you by any chance use a _jinx_ to 'pull her away from the staircase'? And maybe toss her across the hall in the process?"

"No! She's just… heavy, and I'm short," Yewmarsh protested. "I fell, and she fell, and … she smacked her head on the floor."

The prefects looked at one another skeptically. "But she's only a first year," one said, looking at the Hufflepuff. "How heavy can she be, really?"

"Not heavier than you," said the other, snidely. "And here you are, wand in hand… I think we're going to have to report this."

Snape stepped up, a little behind the Slytherin girl. "I should think you would talk to the so-called victim before you go accusing people to the teachers," he shot at them. The girl, though, spun sharply to face him, wand ready, before backing away at angle from both him and the prefects.

"Don't go anywhere," one prefect warned her. "Who are you then?" he asked Snape.

"Oh, that's Snape," said the other, before he could reply. "He's that little fourth year who's always picking a fight with Potter and Black, you know?"

Snape stared at them coldly and didn't bother responding. "Look," he said, pointing, as the Hufflepuff girl stood up, a hand on her head.

"All right, there?" one of the prefects asked her. "What happened here?"

"I don't know," she said, rubbing her head. "I was running to class, and something grabbed me from behind… It was pretty fast. I bumped my head, I think."

"Did you see Peeves anywhere around before you were grabbed?" asked the prefect, glancing sideways at Yewmarsh.

"No…"

"He was _hiding_," exclaimed Yewmarsh. "I saw him, behind that statue over there. And I saw him do the same thing to somebody else last week, I knew what was going to happen!"

The prefects looked disbelieving, but Snape stepped in, asking the Hufflepuff, "Did you see this girl anywhere around?"

"What? No, I didn't see her either…."

"Looks like no witnesses for reporting anything then," Snape said coolly to the prefects. "Time to drop it maybe."

The Hufflepuff girl, looking confused, glanced at a clock on the wall and looked dismayed. "Oh, I'm so late for Charms!" she said.

The prefects shrugged at one another, and said, "Come along, we'll excuse you to Flitwick, if you're sure you don't need to go to the hospital wing." When she shook her head, they started off. "Better get to class, _Slytherins_," one said over his shoulder at them. "You might lose your house some points otherwise."

Of course, don't offer to excuse _us_ for being late, thought Snape, watching them go. He looked at Yewmarsh, who was standing with her back to a window, looking relieved, but still holding up her wand. "Don't you have a pocket for that thing?" he asked wryly.

She looked surprised. "Sure." She lowered her wand, but did not put it away. "Um… thanks."

"Yeah, well… we Slytherins have to stick together," said Snape, shifting his armful of books, and preparing to go to class.

"Yeah," she said, eyes on him, still looking faintly puzzled, and giving no sign that she would be going anywhere.

"You probably shouldn't stick around here, just in case they come back," he said, pointedly. It wouldn't do to give Gryffindor prefects any excuse to take points from Slytherin. "Aren't you going to class?"

She looked away from him at last, and finally stuffed her wand into her robes. "No," she said shortly.

Snape's eyebrows went up. He didn't usually skive off lessons, himself. "Oh. Common room, then?"

Some expression, he wasn't sure exactly what, passed quickly across her face, and she shook her head. "No. Too… crowded."

Snape was surprised. He loved the Slytherin common room, so cool and dark, shadowy suggestions of fish and other _things_ in the water outside the windows. It never seemed crowded to him.

He was about to turn away when she spoke again. "I think I'll go outside, down by the lake. Would you… want to come with?"

He looked at her, considering. It _was_ late, the lesson was almost half over, and it was only Defense Against the Dark Arts for him, which was tiresome since he'd done all the reading, and besides already knew every curse they were learning about right now. He could ask Avery for the assignments. And after this was lunch and he'd be seeing Lily, maybe even outside; she loved to eat out in the sun…. It might be pleasant to sit by the lake and work on his personal spells. If this Yewmarsh didn't talk too much.

"All right, then," he said. "As long as there's some shade. I don't like too much sun."

"Sure," she said, and offered, "I'm Griselda Yewmarsh."

"Severus Snape," he said. She didn't offer to shake hands or anything, so neither did he. They walked down the steps in silence and snuck out the front doors toward the lake.

#

Snape walked straight to a group of trees near the lake's edge and settled himself in the deepest shade he could find. Just because he _could_ walk about in the sun as much as he liked (unlike his rotten, half-vampire father) didn't mean he wanted to. He always felt squinty and over-warm in direct sunlight, even mild springtime sun. He took out his mother's old potions book and notes directly and began reading over the last things he had written.

The girl, Yewmarsh, walked over to the edge of the lake and crouched there for a little while, trailing a hand in the water. After a few minutes she took out her wand and came over under the trees where Snape sat, sitting down with her back against the trunk of one of the trees, facing him, but a few feet away. He sighed, expecting that she would begin talking at him at any moment, but they sat for at least ten minutes in silence. She merely stared off over the water, turning her wand absently in her fingers, while he scratched a few notes with a quill and waited to be interrupted. She was the one who'd invited _him_ out here… but she continued to say nothing.

Finally, he closed his book and said, "So… your wand."

"What?" Her head turned quickly toward him, and her fingers closed tightly over it. "What about it?"

"You're attached to it," he said, dryly. "What kind?"

"Rowan," she said.

"Hmm," he replied. "Mine's birch." He reached to bring it out and show her, and saw that she quickly shifted her sitting, almost to a crouching position. "Merlin's beard, you're jumpy," he said, but pulled his wand out more slowly and held it up. "See?" His was a silvery gray, compared to hers, a golden-brown with a twisting carved design for a handle.

She nodded, and sat down again, leaves crackling. "Nice," she offered, still watching him carefully.

"Sure," he said casually, and waved his wand, saying, "_Cuir-snaidhmair._" A long string of multi-colored smoke emerged from its tip, and began to weave itself into complicated knots and patterns in the air before them.

"Wow," Yewmarsh said, rapt. "I've never seen that spell before."

"_Deletrius_," he said, and the smoke turned gray and dissipated into the sunshine above them. "It's not much use," he said dismissively, "but I invented it for… a friend."

"Do you invent a lot of your own spells, too?" she asked.

_Too?_ Snape thought, but answered only, shortly, "Yes." He expected she would go on, tell him all about her little charms, or talk about how we're so _alike_, isn't it _amazing_, and why on earth did I come out here anyway? he wondered.

But again, silence for a few minutes, only the sound of the lake water on the shore, and a few birds in the trees over their heads. A breeze tossed the tree branches above them and let a few rays of sun through, and Snape huddled down into his robes, gloomily.

"So why don't you like sunshine?" Yewmarsh asked suddenly.

He went very still, but tried to act casual about it. "What?"

"You said you don't like the sun. Why not?"

Snape didn't like the direction of these questions, or how she was watching him. He didn't need that – his whole life as a part-vampire at Hogwarts depended on people not paying too close attention to him, or what he did. He sometimes felt that his life was made up of a series of boxes, or rooms, and as long as the walls of the rooms were kept strong and tight, everything stayed separate and safe. His last close call had been first year, and he didn't intend to repeat anything like it.

"I just don't," he said.

"Is it because you're so pale? Do you sunburn easily or something?"

"Not particularly." This was true, but he immediately thought about backtracking. It would make a good excuse.

"I do," she continued before he could try. "Just like… I mean, I think I got it from my mum, she was very fair." She shifted uncomfortably, then blurted, defiantly, "She was a Muggle."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. In Slytherin, it was an unspoken rule that half-bloods didn't volunteer the information. People usually liked to pretend that, oh yes, we're all purebloods here! Though of course it wasn't true. He could see Yewmarsh watching for his reaction. Well, _he_ could be bold about it too. "So is my father," he said.

She looked surprised. "Really? But… but you know so many spells, you're so good at magic…." She looked away. "I mean, everyone says."

Great, now she was listening to what other people said about him? Who knew what she would ask next. "Did you say was?" he asked. "Your mother…."

"Yeah," she said. "She died. And my brother's a lot older than me, he finished Hogwarts before I even started. It's just me and my father now."

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Anyway," she continued, "how about your dad? Do you get on well?"

"Didn't you say you invent your own spells, too?" he said, desperate to divert her – any topic was better than his home life. She blushed a little but nodded. "Why don't you show me one?"

"All right," she mumbled, and looked around. In a low hanging branch nearby was a spider web, where a butterfly was struggling, barely caught. The spider was approaching it from the corner of the web. "Watch," she said. "_Duroscuto!_" A glowing bubble of light started from the center of the butterfly and expanded around it to about the size of an apple. The spider, touching the side, couldn't seem to get through.

"It's a shield," she said. "It's strong. I cast it around my bed, behind my curtains at night."

"Why would you do that?" he asked, but privately thought it wasn't a bad idea. She only shrugged in response. Snape flicked a tiny pebble at the glowing shield and it bounced off at an angle. "What all have you tested against it?" he asked.

"All the hexes and curses I know," she said. "It lets them out but not in." The butterfly had finally extricated itself from the web, and flew off, the light bubble still centered around it.

"That is really something," said Snape, admiring in spite of himself. "Maybe you could teach that one to me sometime."

She shrugged. "Sometime," she said, but there was a smile on her face for the first time. One corner of her mouth turned up more than the other, but the effect was appealing enough.

Just then, over her shoulder, Snape saw a gleam of red hair in the sunlight, and he craned his neck – Lily was approaching, heading right for the trees. His heart did something funny in his chest (_gladness? is this gladness?_ he thought, but dismissed the question; he didn't really care), and his face must have changed, because Yewmarsh quickly turned to see who was coming, then looked back at Snape again, the smile fading from her face.

"Hey, Sev," said Lily brightly as she came close enough to be heard. "I saw you from the window. Did you really skip—" Just then she saw Yewmarsh, and stopped, cocking her head. "Oh, um, hello." The other girl looked at her in silence. Lily looked to Snape for help.

"Oh. Lily, this is Yewmarsh – um, Griselda Yewmarsh, she's a third year?" He looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded slightly. "In Slytherin. And this is Lily Evans, she's…"

"Your friend," said Yewmarsh, nodding at Lily gravely.

"Nice to meet you, Griselda," said Lily. The younger girl winced a little, but nodded again. "Oh, sorry," said Lily, "I…."

"It's fine," the other girl said. "I just don't care for my given name much. Or my surname for that matter."

"Oh!" said Lily. "What do you prefer?" A shrug. "How about… Selda?"

"I suppose," came the reply. She was staring at the ground.

There was an awkward pause. Lily shot Snape a hinting look, and jerked her head a little toward the other girl. He rolled his eyes, but spoke. "Well, um, Selda," she looked up at him at this, "would you, er, like to come eat with us?"

"Yes, you're welcome," added Lily, smiling warmly at her. "I'm starving, aren't you, Sev?"

Snape nodded, standing and gathering his books and quill from the ground, but Yewmarsh was quicker, jumping to her feet and tucking her wand away quickly. She looked between the two, then said, "No, I'll walk a bit more." Abruptly, she turned away and paced off along the edge of the lake, her small form shrinking as she followed its curve away from the castle.

Lily looked questioningly at Snape, but he just shrugged, and started back for the castle, content to ignore Griselda Yewmarsh's odd behavior in favor of food and the company of his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2 - Again

**Chapter 2**

The library was quiet as usual the next fall while Snape sat studying O.W.L. level Herbology at a table by a window. It wasn't the most riveting of subjects, but useful for Potions, so he always kept careful notes.

"Um, Severus?" He jumped at the unexpected voice next to him; it was Griselda Yewmarsh again. They hadn't really spoken since they'd met, only a nod now and then in the corridor or the Great Hall.

"Sorry," she said. "Not trying to sneak up."

"Could've fooled me," he said irritably, scrubbing at the parchment he had blotted. She just stood there, shifting awkwardly from food to foot, till he sighed. "Did you want something?"

"Listen," she said, and sat down across the table from him. "I was in detention yesterday–" He raised an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Filch caught me about to duel with Regulus, it was nothing. But James Potter and Sirius Black were in detention, too."

"So?"

"So I heard them whispering together. They were really mad about a hex somebody got into their dormitory somehow. Said it stuck them all to their beds, they missed all their morning classes yesterday, got them in trouble."

"Guess they shouldn't leave their windows open then," he said, coolly, making notes on his parchment.

She looked at him carefully, with the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth. "They think you did it."

Snape smirked. "I'm sure I have no idea why."

"Well, they're plotting something, talking about things to get you back. And Black got this scary smile, said he had an idea—"

He snorted. "He's so thick, he'll have to get up early to get me. If he's not stuck to his bed."

"Yeah, but listen, he said you were a nosy little…" she stammered a second, then continued, "um, a nosy git, and he knew how to get you to leave them alone."

Snape was amused. "Bet he didn't say git, did he?"

She shrugged. "But the point is, Potter seemed to know what he meant, and _he_ tried to warn him off it. Said it wasn't funny, it could be real trouble."

"Hmm." He wondered what that could be about. "And you couldn't tell what it was?"

"No." She shook her head. "They didn't say anything specific."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his book. "Well, I'll have to keep an eye out then."

They sat silently for a moment, till Griselda said, "What's your problem with them anyway?"

Snape shrugged, looked out the window. "Arrogant, pompous asses. Just can't stand them." It was none of _her_ business, anyway.

She followed his gaze out the window, where a class was finishing a Care of Magical Creatures lesson on the lawn. Lily's distinctive red hair was visible even from a distance.

"That's my favorite subject," said Griselda, almost absently, watching.

Snape glanced at her. "Really? Does this mean you actually go to class sometimes?"

"_Yes_," she said, glaring at him.

"Only I thought maybe you didn't believe in them or something," he said snidely. "Pretty sure I saw you yesterday sneaking out the front door after lunch."

She reddened a little. "My marks are… just fine, sometimes I just need to get out." She looked away. "Sometimes I need to walk."

"'Just fine'?" Snape said, doubtfully.

"Well," she said. "Never fine enough for my father."

Snape shut his mouth with a snap. He certainly knew about fathers who were impossible to please.

They returned to looking out the window. Abruptly, she said, "So is she your girlfriend?"

"What?"

Griselda nodded out the window.

"No," he said. She raised one eyebrow at him. "_No,_" he said again. "We just grew up together. We're just friends."

She shrugged. "All right."

Snape fumed a little, privately. Nosy little squirt. He could play at that, too. "What about you? Got a boyfriend?" He paused; he rarely saw her hanging around anyone, let alone a boy, at school. "At home?"

She looked away. "They're not boyfriends." She didn't seem embarrassed, just distant, and he gave it up, burying himself back in his book, hoping she would go away now.

But she merely sat there, looking through a copy of the Daily Prophet that someone had abandoned on the table. He glanced over, saw an article that read: _THE PART-VAMPIRE MENACE – is drowning at birth the answer?_ He quickly looked away and scribbled harder in his notes. He noticed Griselda darting a glance at the door of the library.

"What's going on?" he asked, leaning over. He saw nothing by the door.

"Oh, I think Regulus and a few of his little pals are waiting for me to come out so I can finish what he started yesterday." Her lip curled as she paged further through the paper.

Always fighting with someone, Snape thought. "Don't you have _any_ friends?" he asked.

"Don't _you?" _she shot back, glaring.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yes."

"So how come you're always on your own in your little feud with Potter?"

He tried for an air of disdain, but his reply came out in rather a snarl. "You have to take care of yourself. No one else will."

He expected another heated response, but she stared at him for a moment, and then nodded sharply. "Yes," she said simply. "I know."

He was taken aback. Lily always argued with him when he said things like that, told him that was an awfully bleak view of life and that maybe he should consider changing it. But true was true, wasn't it? It was so strange to have someone agree.

Griselda peered again toward the door, and stood up. "I think they're gone." She picked up her bag and slung it over her back.

But he had an idea to address the Potter problem, and spoke up. "Can I ask a favor?"

She looked surprised. "You can ask."

"Could we meet somewhere Saturday? Would you teach me that shield spell you showed me last year?" That could definitely be useful if Black was planning something nasty.

"Sure," she said, looking flustered but pleased. "That'd be fine."

"Good," he said. "I'll talk to you in the common room later." She nodded, and turned to go. "Hey, Yewmarsh…." He stopped at the look she gave him. "What?"

"I like Selda," she said.

"You do?"

She shrugged, looking out the window. "When you say it."

_What was that supposed to mean?_ "All right, well, thanks, Selda."

"Sure, Severus."

#

Snape stumbled as he entered the empty common room after his terrible botched apology to Lily. It was the middle of the night, and the room was dark except for the glow of the snake-carved fireplace.

He kicked at a heavy chair, and immediately regretted it. Swearing loudly, he pulled out his wand and hissed, "_Reducto!"_ The chair crumbled into bits. He wanted to go on, to reduce every piece of furniture in the place to dust. Instead he gripped his wand and tried to breathe slowly. _Never again_, he told himself. Never again would he lose control like he had today while Potter had humiliated him in front of everyone, in front of Lily… hanging there like a rabbit in a snare… if he hadn't lost control, if he just hadn't called her a Mudblood…. He saw again the look of contempt on her face as she had turned away from him tonight, and he shuddered inside. Did she really mean it? Was their friendship really over?

There was a noise from near the fireplace, and he jumped, looking over. Someone was sitting in one of the high-backed chairs pulled in front of the dying fire. For a moment he thought perhaps someone had fallen asleep studying for O.W.L.s tomorrow, but then the top of a head appeared above the velvet-lined top of the armchair – dark hair glinting in the firelight, face shadowed. But clearly Selda Yewmarsh.

"What do you want?" Snape spoke sharply. He had thought he was alone.

"If you're done disintegrating furniture," she said, matching his tone, "I thought you might…." She trailed off suddenly.

"Might what?" He glanced at the hall to the dormitories. He should just stalk out, why was he even bothering here?

"Might like some food."

"What?"

She gestured him over, and he hesitated, then walked closer. There was a small table between the chair Selda was kneeling on and the next over, and on the table were two bowls covered with tea towels. Now he could smell something warm, and in spite of himself his stomach rumbled.

"I noticed you weren't at dinner," she said. "And then I've been sitting here all evening and I didn't see you come in… I thought you might be hungry."

"Where did you…?"

"I got it from the kitchens," she said, uncovering the bowls. "It's black pudding pasties and some fruit."

They did smell delicious, and black pudding was his favorite. Snape sighed, then sat and took one. "You know where the kitchens are?" he asked through a mouthful.

Selda was eating a pear from the fruit bowl, her knees pulled up in the chair. "Sure. I like it there."

Snape shook his head, taking another pastie. "Go there often?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes." She glanced at him. "I heard what happened today."

Snape froze, and glared at her. "All over the school, is it? Everyone getting a good laugh?"

"I'm not," she said, seriously. "And I heard Mulciber and Avery and Gibbon – they're all furious. Planning something for Potter and Black and Lily Evans…."

"I can handle it myself," he said, fiercely.

"Well, _you_ can tell them that."

"I will." Dark Arts Society or no, this was _his_ business.

They sat, staring at the fire for a time. "And," Selda began, hesitantly, "and … what does Lily say?"

He looked sideways at her, his stomach clenching. "You really did hear, didn't you." Stopped for a minute. "She says…." He paused. "That we're not friends any more."

"Oh," said Selda. "I'm sorry."

"Are you really?" he said bitterly. "I'd have thought you'd be glad." _I thought that was what all this was about,_ he thought. _I'm not stupid, I think I can tell when someone fancies me._ He thought fleetingly about flaunting Selda as his girlfriend in the Great Hall, seeing if he couldn't make Lily jealous… but he dismissed it just as quickly. He didn't want to think about it. Deep down, he knew that Lily would probably be happy for him if she saw he had a girlfriend… that she had never… and why should she, anyway? And he knew that if she knew how he really was, _what_ he really was… well, he had never really had a chance with her, not really, but he couldn't think about that. Ever. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Hey…."

He felt her hand brush his sleeve, froze, then jerked his arm away, glaring at her with narrowed eyes.

Selda was looking at him sharply. "Sorry," she said. "No. Lily is… a very kind person. I'm sorry you've fallen out."

"Yeah," he said, a little thickly. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. _Wall it off, wall it off,_ he told himself, numbly. Meanwhile, Selda had risen and was poking at the dying fire, muttering something about "this rotten common room."

"What? What's the matter with it?"

Selda looked defensive as she sat back down and pulled her knees up to her chest. "It's just always dark and chilly. And the others… everyone loves Dark magic, too. Well, not everyone…."

"You don't like it here," he observed. She didn't reply, only hunched her shoulders further. "Don't like the common room, can't seem to stand the other students… why are you even in Slytherin?"

"Not like _you_ get on so well with everyone," she retorted, but then sighed. "My father was a Slytherin. I guess that's why."

"So was my mother," Snape said, "but I wanted to be here. Would you really rather be in some other House? Hufflepuff? _Gryffindor?_" He spat the name.

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Sometimes I don't know why I'm at Hogwarts at all."

"Can't wait to go home for summer?" He didn't expect the reaction he got: Selda gave a great shudder, her body almost convulsing, and buried her face in her knees. "Not exactly, then?" he ventured.

After a minute, she finally spoke in a muffled voice. "This is my home. I wish I could stay through the summer, too."

"But you just said…."

"I meant," she said, lifting her face, "that I … I don't know why I bother trying to learn anything here." She looked away, out the window. "I can never seem to use it when it counts."

Snape was puzzled, and distracted by a sudden feeling of companionship – he had always wished he could stay at Hogwarts all summer as well. He didn't understand how she could feel so out of place in Slytherin but still think of Hogwarts as home.

He leaned forward. "The Sorting Hat doesn't make mistakes," he told her. "If it put you here in Slytherin, it's because you have talent, potential – inner greatness." Embarrassed suddenly by his earnestness, he sat back. "Like all of us."

She stared at him, nose resting on her knees. "Like you?"

He nodded fiercely, looking away. _I hope_ drifted through his mind.

They sat in silence while the embers hissed on the hearth, and the water murmured outside the windows. At last Selda spoke again.

"It's late. Don't you have O.W.L.s tomorrow?"

"Just Potions. I could take it in my sleep," Snape said, scornfully.

"Probably shouldn't try that though." There was the hint of a smile in her voice.

He almost smiled, imagining himself snoring in a nightshirt, stirring a cauldron. "Probably not." He stood, stretching. "Well, thanks for the food," he offered.

"And anyway," she said abruptly, as he started to walk away. "You're neighbors, aren't you? Maybe you can talk to her over the summer. Maybe she'll get over it."

He had been so worked up all day that such a thing had honestly not occurred to him yet. The hope that flared in his chest almost choked him. He stared at the fire for a long moment, and then said, "Maybe. Maybe you're right."


	3. Chapter 3 - Bargain

**Chapter 3**

Snape stalked through the woods, carrying an improvised satchel, trying to be quiet but not doing very well at it. It was dim, nearly twilight, with the world just beginning to turn gray around him, and though the wind covered some of the noise of his footsteps, he was too angry and impatient to take the time necessary for real stealth.

Everything was a disaster. A summer's passing had not changed Lily's mind about their friendship. He had tried in vain all summer at Spinner's End to get her to talk to him, but nothing worked. And she had completely avoided him since coming back to Hogwarts.

It was all Potter's fault. None of this would've happened if it weren't for him and Black… he never would have called her that… and she wouldn't have rejected him….

It was a well-worn road in his thoughts, and a futile one. He could plot a dozen vengeances on Potter, certainly – he was in the middle of perfecting a cutting curse that would be wonderful – but all the rage, all the despair at the loss of Lily… it was taking a toll. It seemed that the angrier he was, the harder it was to ignore the blood hunger, to box it away as he used to. Or was it that he was getting older, sixteen now? He found himself distracted by necks, by the faintest smell of blood – a papercut, a bloody nose, a skinned knee…. Whatever it was, it meant that the cravings were more intense, more frequent, and that he had to go out hunting more often.

When he had first come to Hogwarts, a few rats a month seemed to be sufficient – not pleasant, but enough to keep him healthy and focused the rest of the time. Now he felt hungry all the time, and so he started venturing into the woods to find what he could there. Tonight, he had a folded cloth with two rabbits, a squirrel, and a hare in it, but he wasn't sure it was enough.

He stopped, hearing something in the tree ahead. Cautiously, he raised his wand, and… "_Petrificus totalus!_" Another squirrel dropped like a stone from the branches in front of him, and he picked it up, feeling the swift heartbeat and breathing in the stiff little body. Well, it would have to do for now, he was starving. He crouched down, put away his wand, and spread the cloth and animals to his side, biting into the squirrel.

Just then the wind shifted, and he smelled something. Blood, human blood, from behind him. He froze, hoping his dark robes would make him unnoticeable to whomever was back there, but instead he heard a familiar voice, alarmingly close.

"Severus? I thought I heard you say… What are you doing in here?" It was Selda's voice, and the smell of her blood behind him.

He felt a shock of cold in his limbs. His heart pounded, nearly as fast, it felt, as the squirrel's had been a moment before. In his mind's ear, his mother's voice was repeating urgently, over and over, No one can ever know…._ Don't panic,_ he told himself fiercely. _Don't give anything away._ He blotted his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, dropped the squirrel in front of him, and stood, turning around. He tried to stay calm, but couldn't help putting on a sneer as he said, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Selda stood for a few moments in the darkening air, regarding him and the scene with narrowed eyes. "It _looks_," she said, slowly, "like you're body-binding defenseless animals and torturing them for fun."

Snape looked down at the cloth with the little bodies on the ground next to him. For fun? All right, maybe, he thought. He decided to agree, try to play it off. "So?" he said, casually. "They're just vermin."

Before he could even properly register the look of fury on her face, she had half tackled him into the tree-trunk just behind him, and was shrieking at him. "'So?' So?! They're still _alive_, you great _bully_, you _coward_, what kind of a _monster_ are you?" She punctuated her words with kicks and blows, and they _hurt_.

"I'm _not _a coward!" he exclaimed hotly, raising his hands to fend her off. "What on earth is the matter with you? Ow!" She had punched him in the stomach, and he bent over a little, breathing hard.

"I thought you were all _right_, I can't believe…" But suddenly Selda stopped, grabbing his arm, staring into his face. "Wait. What's that on your…" He jerked his head back as she raised one hand a little. Her gaze flickered to the animals on the ground, then back to his face again, and her eyes widened. There was a pause that seemed like an eternity, where Snape tried to think of something to say, of something to put her off, something to deny the truth, but his mind was a blank of panic. "You're a vampire," she said, flatly.

He half-struck, half-shoved her away from him, onto the forest floor. Without even thinking, without the slightest hint of a plan, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at her, taking a step forward. But before he could even open his mouth to speak, she had somehow rolled half to her feet, whipped out her wand, and shouted, "_Protego! Expelliarmus! Duroscuto!_"

He flew backward into the tree and slumped to the ground, his wand flying out of his hand, the wind knocked out of him. He tried to scramble up, but his back hurt from the impact with the trunk, and the most he could manage was to sit up and lean, trying to catch his breath. He stared at Selda, who was standing in the midst of her glowing round shield spell, wand pointed straight at his head. She was shaking and gasping, and her voice trembled with rage as she spoke.

"If you ever raise your wand at me again, I'll curse your hands off." He flinched at the intensity in her voice, and in her eyes. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "At the wrists. Just try me."

"All right," he said. "All right, I believe you." He made to stand up, but she shook her head, hard.

"Not bloody likely," she spat. "_Accio!_" His wand flew into her hand. "You can just stay sitting there for now."

He dropped back, painfully, to the ground. "Fine!" he snarled. Misery threatened to undo any composure he had left. She knew, she knew… everything was over. _Why didn't I just deny it?_ he thought, furious at himself, at her, at everything. _Why did I pull out my wand? Just confirmed things. What was I thinking?_ He'd known, if he'd thought about it, that she was always dueling or fighting with someone. He hadn't expected her to be even faster on the draw than that great git Potter, though. And now here he was, defenseless, and what would he do now? What would _she_ do?

At the moment she was pacing back and forth, the bubble of glimmering light moving with her, watching him closely, her wand arm still trained on him. _She must practice holding up her arm for hours at a time,_ a detached corner of his mind thought idly. _Doesn't it get sore after a while?_ Finally, she spoke. "Well, you can't be a full vampire. I've seen you in the sun. So… how does it work?"

"Not any of _your_ business," he snapped at her.

She flicked her wand slightly. "This says it is."

He laughed bitterly. "So? Why should I say anything? Just more to tell when you go running to Dumbledore and get me kicked out of school forever." His voice, changing as it still was, broke on the last word, and he lowered his face to his knees. _Forever_. He would have to go back to his mother's house, all those wasted O.W.L.s last year, he would never be able to finish school, find work, join the Dark Lord; he'd never get away, he'd never _be_ anyone….

"I haven't decided." At this, Snape paused, then looked up again and stared at her. She stared back. "I haven't. So tell me more."

He drew a breath, and looked away. He had never told this, to anyone, had never told it as a story, and barely knew what to say or where to begin. He only wanted to get it over with. "My father is a Muggle," he said at last. "And a half-vampire. It doesn't always pass to the children, but I was," he grimaced bitterly, "_lucky_. It means that I can walk in the sun, and eat human food, and I have a reflection. But I need blood also, or I get sick. Die, eventually, I guess."

"What about … turning humans?"

"Into vampires?" He shook his head derisively. "Only full vampires can do that."

She nodded. "So what do you do for blood? How often do you need it?"

He looked away again. "More often lately. When I was a first year my mother used to send me pigs' blood secretly, by owl, but someone—" _Potter,_ of course, but he didn't add that now, "almost caught me with it once, so I told her I'd make do with rats. So I hunt out here." He nodded toward the small bodies on the ground.

"So you don't …" she paused awkwardly, but continued at last, "drink human blood? That works?"

He shook his head. "So far. Other mammals instead."

"Do you ever want to?"

He looked at her quizzically, scornfully. "I can't leave a trail of bodies about. I _want_ to finish here at Hogwarts. I _want_ to have a life, and that's impossible if anyone knows about me." He fell silent, looking at his empty hands. _And now someone does. Merlin, what will I do now?_

"Meet me tomorrow," she said at last. It was quite dark now and only the ghostly glow of the shield spell illuminated her face. "There's a storeroom in the dungeon, two doors down from Potions. Meet me there after dinner. I have… an idea."

"An idea?"

"For an arrangement." She must've seen the bewilderment in his face, because she continued, "You want this to stay a secret, don't you? Meet me tomorrow and we'll… discuss it."

"Fine," he said at last. _As if I really have a choice. _She nodded and started to turn away, but the breeze blew again from behind her and he spoke again. "Selda? Why do I smell your blood when the wind blows?"

She paused for a long minute, then turned back and slowly lifted the left sleeve of her robe. Down the inside of her forearm were three long cuts, quite fresh.

"What – " Snape began, but she shook the sleeve down over her arm and cut him off.

"Here." Her own still raised, she tossed his wand a few feet beyond the animals still on the cloth. Her gaze rested there for a moment. "You know," she said, "you could at least snap their necks before you drink them." Snape stared after her, speechless, as she ran quickly away and back toward the castle, leaving him in the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

The next evening, Snape passed the door to the Potions classroom – one, two doors down. He glanced over his shoulder, but no one was in the corridor, so he tried the handle. It squeaked but opened easily.

The storeroom was perhaps fifteen feet long. The walls were lined with heavy wooden shelves, holding bottles, boxes, jars, bulky parcels covered in brown paper. There were several stools, brooms, and low, lidded crocks behind the door. There was no window, but the room was lit by blue flames in a large dusty jar on a shelf. It cast odd shadows on the ceiling. In one of the far corners, Selda was sitting on a barrel, wand in hand, but not pointed at him. _Yet_, he thought, but he didn't dare draw on her again. He was still unnerved by how fast she had disarmed him last night. And no matter what her reputation for fighting, he was still taller, older, male – he doubted many people would take his side, even if he did manage to get the better of her.

"Wand," she said. "Leave it on the shelf by the door. Slowly."

"Why, are you planning to jinx me?"

She crossed her arms and regarded him coolly. "I could've done that already," she said, "as soon as you opened the door, if that's why I was here."

True, he thought. Reluctantly, he placed his wand on the shelf she indicated. _It's not that far to reach it_, he tried to console himself.

"Well, I'm here. You said you had … what was it, an arrangement?" So odd. What on earth could she be talking about? All day his mind had been gnawing over possibilities, most of which were highly improbable. Blackmail? For all the Galleons he didn't have? Maybe she would want him to do her homework or something… though she didn't seem to care enough about lessons for that. For all he knew, maybe she just wanted to watch him wriggle a little while before she destroyed his life. It had certainly occurred to him that maybe he should act first, modify her memory, curse her somehow… but he was uncertain. He thought about her teaching him her _Duroscuto_ charm, warning him last year about Black's so-called prank, even if it didn't help…. It was too risky, attacking first, that would just be confirming what she said, if she were to tell on him. If he waited, he might still be able to deny it all – his word against hers. And he didn't particularly _want_ to hurt her. And so, here he was.

She just sat there, watching him, looking defiant but a trifle uncertain.

"Now that I know… what I know," she said slowly, "you're probably just waiting for me to tell someone. You're probably thinking about how you might stop me." He blanched a little, and she gave a small, bitter smile. "I would be."

She shifted in her seat. "But you're my… friend, and I don't want you to have to leave," she continued. "And I don't want to have to be… watching for you all the time, over my shoulder. So I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Are we?" Snape asked. "Friends?" The idea that he might have another friend – no Lily, of course, but still – made him feel odd. He rubbed the back of his neck.

She said, hesitantly, "If you think we are, too."

"All right, then," he said, though he still felt doubtful. "But what did you mean, arrangement?"

She sat still a moment, then pulled up the sleeves of her robes. Her inner arms were marked with short and long cuts, some mostly healed, others fresher, like the three he had seen the night before. He could smell the blood, very faintly, congealed into scabs along thin, red lines. It was… distracting. He had been so anxious last night that he had simply released the rest of the animals alive, and then regretted it all day. And especially now.

"What happened?" he asked, staring.

"I did it." He glanced up at her face – it looked tight and pained, and she didn't meet his eyes. "I do it… sometimes."

"Why?"

"I'm not trying to… to die or anything," she said. "It's just… sometimes it makes me feel better."

"Better?"

"Sometimes I feel… bad. And I have to do _something._ I use this – " she lifted a folding pocketknife with a wooden handle from her lap. "And I feel better afterward."

"Why… why do you feel so bad?"

She looked at him with eyes that were frighteningly empty. "I can't tell you," she said at last, quietly.

He shrugged; if she didn't want to confide in him, fine. "All right," he said. "But why show _me_? What does this…." He trailed off. She wasn't really suggesting… was she?

She drew herself up. "I won't tell anyone about you," she said firmly. "And then, sometimes, we'll meet up and you can…" she gestured with an arm. "Do this for me. A favor for a favor."

Snape blinked. He put out an arm – Selda tensed – and pulled one of the tall stools a little nearer so he could sit down on it, maybe five feet from her on the barrel. "I – I need to think," he said, putting his head in his hands.

This is a terrible idea, he told himself. It would just put him in a more compromised position. Friends or not, all it would take was one mistake. If she told the Headmaster that not only was he a part-vampire, but he had bitten her, attacked her…. And he knew that Dumbledore suspected him, something he'd said last year after the fiasco with Potter and the Whomping Willow….

She interrupted his thoughts. "We could try it. If you think you can handle it. Control yourself, like. And I'll have your wand, first thing, every time."

_My wand?_ he thought. Worse and worse. "How do I know you won't change your mind?" he asked. "How do I know you're not just trying to get some proof to turn me in?" Though, he thought, she was the one cutting herself already. Maybe he could get away with it, if it came down to it…

"I guess you'll just have to trust me," she said.

He snorted. "Because you're so trusting yourself," he said acidly, holding his wandless hands up and waggling his fingers.

"I'm not stupid," she snapped at him. "You're dangerous enough without a wand. I have to have some kind of advantage, if we're going to do this."

"So why do you even _want_ to do this?" he asked. _What are you doing?_ he asked himself, incredulously. _Are you trying to talk her out of it?_ The truth, of course, was that he was intrigued, fascinated, his throat fairly itched at the idea of finally, _finally_….

"A favor for a favor," Selda said again, firmly.

"Seems like you don't need _my_ help," said Snape sullenly. "And besides, what about you? Will you be safe, not… not pass out from blood loss or something?" _That's all I would need, try to explain why I'm in a broom closet with an unconscious body._

An odd look passed over her face. "I'll be fine," she said. "We'll just have to be… careful." Before he could say anything else, she opened the knife and drew it across her left forearm, above the wrist. Her face showed nothing as bright red beads followed the silver blade. She left the knife on the barrel as she hopped down and approached him slowly, holding her wand ready at her side. "Well?"

He swallowed, hard. The scent was overwhelming his brain, crushing the warning voice to nothing. She held out her wrist to him; a droplet of blood was just starting to run down toward her palm. He took the back of her hand, gingerly, and just barely noticed that it was trembling.

"No teeth," she said.

He nodded, his mind nearly a blank, and bent his head over her hand. He hesitated once more, but then put his lips over the cut and drank.

Almost instantly, every one of his senses seemed to sharpen. The warmth of her blood and skin, the sound of her breathing, a little quick; even the damp smell of the basement walls and the whisper of the flames in the jar seemed pronounced. The taste was… impossible, like nothing he'd ever… like rich chocolate after a lifetime of stale bread. He felt the blood hunger in his chest, an involuntary, silent growl.

"Enough," Selda said, quietly, a few moments later. For just an instant, his hands tightened on hers, then he stopped, took a deep breath, and looked up, releasing her hand and drawing his sleeve across his mouth.

They regarded each other steadily, warily. Selda was pressing a cloth over her wrist, but she didn't look any paler or more distressed than usual. If anything, the tight look in her eyes seemed to have softened a little. She reached out tentatively, almost touching his face. "You missed…." He hurriedly scrubbed his chin with the back of his hand, looking away.

"Well," she said, finally, going to the door. "'Til next time."


	5. Chapter 5

For the next few weeks, Snape tried to play it cool. He went to classes, did his assignments, met up with his D.A.S. friends… but every minute he fought to keep from watching for Selda. He pretended he wasn't thinking about when he would see her again, but his stomach was in a constant dull churn of anticipation, and he couldn't seem to get a tingling sensation out of his fingers.

She taught him a charm she had invented, a variation of a finding spell, that she had tweaked to be person-specific. That way when she shot him a look from down the table in the Great Hall and then left, it was easier for them to meet up. Sometimes it was the storeroom again; sometimes she was standing in an empty classroom, hand extended for his wand; once she even grabbed him between classes and pulled him into an alcove behind a tapestry in the corridor, plucking his wand right out of his pocket. That time she left in such a rush afterward that he had to follow her and get it back before his next class.

They didn't talk much; it was too awkward. What was he going to say? Hi? How's it going? You're delicious? The very thought made him cringe. Mostly she was distant, or at best calm afterward – she never, ever cried, and seldom showed a sign that his teeth (not exactly fangs, but sharper than normal) might be painful. But she rarely smiled, and never seemed happy either. It started to bother him.

What was this weird thing they had between them, anyway, what was it even about? he wondered one evening at the end of September, his eyes closed. They were in the storeroom again, on the floor, Selda sitting against the barrel holding the two wands, Snape with his head on her leg, his feet up on the shelving. He was so much taller than her that it was more convenient this way sometimes. Her bitten arm rested on his chest, where he held a bandage to it. She was stroking his hair a little with her other hand, tentatively or absentmindedly, but he was too lost in his troubling thoughts to notice much.

What _was_ it about? She was periodically miserable, depressed, maybe even a little crazy for all he knew… she liked him to hurt her, or to help her hurt herself… and apparently, he thought with a burning rush of self-loathing, I'm fine with that. _Monster._ _What would Lily say about it?_ But the thought of Lily was far too painful and had to be shut away immediately.

"We should study together," he said suddenly, opening his eyes.

"Right now? Or is that what we're calling it now?"

"I'm serious. You have O.W.L.s coming up, they're important."

She rolled her eyes. "So say the professors, they've only been on about it since the first day this year. What's the point?"

"You always talk like –" _Like you think you're stupid,_ he thought, but that probably wasn't the most tactful phrasing. He tried again. "You invent your own shields and finding spells, for Merlin's sake, you're clever. You could get any job you wanted after Hogwarts if you do well on your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s."

She stared into space, but her hand on his hair paused. "That's very kind of you to say."

He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Since when was _he_ kind? Especially to her. "It's not kind – it's just true," he said, reaching up and poking her in the forehead with one long finger. She looked down at him. "So. Studying?"

She sighed and looked away again. "All right."

Good. This was progress. _Progress?_ he asked himself. _Towards what?_ He pushed that question aside and chewed at his lip a moment, checking the bandage on her arm. The mark had stopped bleeding, and he ran his fingers over it lightly.

"Does it hurt?" The words came out of his mouth quietly, unexpected even to him, and he glanced sidelong at her face.

She was still staring into the middle distance. After a long pause, she said, "The cutting does, at first. Then it just sort of throbs. It's all like… scratching an itch. A terrible itch, and you scratch so hard and so much that it starts to bleed. But you keep scratching anyway." She shrugged, dismissively. "It's not that bad."

Snape wasn't sure what to say to this, so instead he sat up, then stood. "Well, come on," he said, offering her a hand. "Study."

She let him pull her up, a slight smile on her face. "Next thing you know, you'll be a good influence on me," she said.

_Me? What a thought._ He shook his head. "Not likely."


	6. Chapter 6

Just after the start of Christmas break, Selda dragged him out to walk around the mostly-frozen lake. "Too many dungeons, time to go outside," she said. He had been moping in the common room, brooding about Lily, actually, though he wasn't going to tell Selda that. Outside, it was a dreary day, with thin snow on the ground, but not too windy. She brought a hamper with lunch from the kitchens, and they ate it under the trees.

"Just me, you and Victor Nott here this break," she said, eying Snape as they ate meat pies and black pudding, sitting on an old hippogriff blanket she had borrowed from Professor Kettleburn. "Whatever will we do with all the time, Severus?"

Snape, however, was busy peering at her face; he didn't like the look of the dark circles under her eyes. "Still not sleeping well?" he asked. That had been her excuse lately, but he felt uneasy about it.

"Nightmares," she said, dismissively, brushing crumbs off her hands.

"Maybe we should back off for a little while." The hunger growled in him but he ignored it. "I don't want…."

"To get in trouble?" she said snidely, when he paused. She got up and began throwing stones out onto the lake, trying to clear the iced edge to where the dark water still ran free in the middle.

"Well… that too," he said to her back.

"I'll be fine, it's not a problem," she half sang over her shoulder, and began to climb on some of the rocks along the lake edge. "I just haven't been sleeping well."

"Aren't those slippery?" Snape called doubtfully after her.

"Oh, I'm careful, always careful," she said, lightly, arms out, balancing. "I always take care of _you_, don't I?"

Before he could think what he might reply, Selda put a hand on her head, and said, "Oh." She teetered and fell off the low rock, stumbling into the icy shallows. Snape grabbed the blanket and ran over, though she was already standing up again. Her robes and green and silver scarf were soaked and dripping.

"Brilliant there, Selly," he told her, grinning a little, but wrapping the blanket around her quickly.

She grimaced. "Not really my most graceful," she said. "Just a little dizzy for a second there."

"Dizzy?" He frowned. "Maybe we should get you up to the infirmary."

She shook her head, vehemently. "We can just light a fire, I'll dry…." She started to walk back towards the trees, but then her legs buckled and she would have fallen if Snape hadn't grabbed her shoulders. Her face was a dreadful color, gray-white like the snow. "All right," she said faintly, "maybe the infirmary."

#

The first thing Madame Pomfrey said when they entered the hospital wing was, "Students playing in the lake in the dead of winter! What next! Get her over here immediately, Mr. Snape, don't dither about."

Snape had been half-supporting Selda all the way up to the castle. He eased her down to sitting on one of the beds near the fireplace. She was shivering, and her lips were purplish-blue.

Madame Pomfrey tutted, bustling about, taking the wet blanket away. "What's your name, dear, I haven't seen you in here before."

"Gr-Griselda Yewmarsh," she stammered.

"Very well, Miss Yewmarsh, please remove those wet robes," Madame Pomfrey said. "You, Mr. Snape, may go while I take care of this."

Snape had been hovering awkwardly to one side, and started to sidle away. Selda, however, made a kind of strangled yelp, and clamped onto his arm so hard it hurt, looking up with desperate eyes, shaking her head. "P-please, Madame P-Pomfrey, c-couldn't he s-stay?" she begged between chattering teeth. Snape looked at Madame Pomfrey in consternation.

Madame Pomfrey looked from one to the other, then said, "Fine, fine, but he'll have to sit out of the way." She gestured him to a chair behind the bed. "Now get those robes off instantly, we must get you warm. Jumper too, Miss Yewmarsh, it's soaking wet..." The matron collected the wet clothing, and began rummaging through a tray of potions and a trunk of blankets.

Selda was left for a moment hugging herself, wearing a Muggle shirt, purple, with only thin straps as sleeves – and on her visible bare back Snape could, for the first time, see a wide reach of old scars, red and white. Burns? And cuts? Had she been hurt in some kind of magical accident as a child? She'd never said anything about it… not that that was a surprise. She was almost as compulsively secretive as he was.

In the next moment Madame Pomfrey was wrapping a magically-warmed blanket around her, covering her back. She took out her wand and Selda cringed, but she merely began to blow warm air onto her head and hair to dry it. "You're lucky, Miss Yewmarsh," she told her, working briskly, "you may not even need any Pepper-up Potion after this. We shall have to see."

"Um, ma'am?" Snape volunteered from his seat. "She fell into the water because she got dizzy."

"Oh really?" Madame Pomfrey looked at Selda. "Is that so?" Selda huddled in the blanket, but nodded. "Well, that's another matter. Did you faint?" She tipped Selda's face up with her finger, frowning, no doubt, at the circles under her eyes. Then she reached for her hand and examined her fingernails. Suddenly she exclaimed aloud, "Miss Yewmarsh! What have you done to your arms?"

Selda jerked back her arm and tucked it into her blanket. "Nothing," she said.

"_That_,"said Madame Pomfrey, "is not _nothing._"

Snape held his breath.

Selda sighed. "I'm just clumsy," she said. "Always hurting myself."

Madame Pomfrey eyed her skeptically, but did not pursue the matter. "I believe you are severely anemic, Miss Yewmarsh," she said, reaching for a vial of red potion. "Which might account for the dizziness. Take this Blood-Replenisher immediately, and I will give you two more doses to take back to your dormitory as well. If you feel at all weak or dizzy, you are to come straight back here, do you understand? Perhaps I should keep you here overnight, just to be sure." Madame Pomfrey looked thoughtful, but Selda shook her head quickly, desperately. "Very well, but I would like you to check in with me tomorrow, is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am, I will, I promise."

"And," Madame Pomfrey said, "I will give you some essence of dittany. It should help heal your arms and perhaps prevent scarring. I would advise you to _please _be more careful in the future, Miss Yewmarsh."

"Yes, ma'am."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Rest a little, dear, while I fetch the potions. Mr. Snape," she turned to him and he jumped, "if you would be useful and finish drying Miss Yewmarsh's clothing? And do be sure to remind her to come see me tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered and jumped up to perform the hot air charm on the steaming clothes in front of the fire.

After Madame Pomfrey left, Selda swallowed the red vial of potion she had been given and coughed. "Blech," she said. "Tastes awful."

Snape said nothing; he was still a little shaken. Thank goodness for Madame Pomfrey's famous lack of prying. And also that Selda had always insisted that they avoid her neck. That might have been fatally obvious.

"Stop worrying," Selda told him. "It's fine, I'm fine, everything is fine." He shot her a dubious look and continued to dry the clothes. "And anyway," she continued, standing and coming closer to the fire where he stood, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, "this has been helpful." She smiled a little. "I bet _we_ could make our own Blood-Replenisher Potion."

"Selda –" he began to protest, but she interrupted him.

"And," she said, in a lower voice, "what if we could alter it, make a new recipe that would be a blood _substitute_? Now _that_ would be useful sometimes, don't you think?"

Snape rolled his eyes, but it _was_ an interesting idea, not being forced to hunt anywhere, brewing blood himself….

Selda nodded as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. "We'll work on it," she said, holding out a hand to the flames. "Something else to do during break, maybe the rest of the year. Don't worry so much."

"I always worry," he muttered; the clothes were almost dry.

"I know," she said quietly, and leaned her head on his arm for just a moment, before straightening up and stepping away. "But don't. I'll take care of you."


	7. Chapter 7 - Wand

**Chapter 4**

September first, and Snape heaved his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express for the last time ever. The smell of the steam in the cold air, the chatter of students on the train, the squeaking of the food trolley down the cars – all of it was so familiar, and left him feeling melancholy, knowing he'd never be taking this trip again. His last year at Hogwarts… taking N.E.W.T.s… and then going out to make his mark on the world at last….

He found Selda in a compartment, alone, toward the back of the train. She was curled up in a seat by the window, wand in hand, staring out. He found himself smiling when he spotted her, and yet hesitated for a moment in the corridor. His stomach flipped a little. He didn't even know what to call her exactly. But he knew he had been looking forward to seeing her.

She turned quickly when he opened the door, and he held up his hands. "Just me," he said.

"Severus!" Her eyes seemed to clear and the crooked smile lit up her face. "Come in!"

He settled in the seat across from her, and they sat in silence for a minute. "How was your, um, summer?" he asked finally.

"You're terrible at small talk, do you know that?" she asked, smiling a little. She looked out the window. "Peachy, same as always." She shook her head, and looked at him. "How was yours? Did you try the Blood's-Heart?" It was the name they had given the blood substitute potion they had worked on the year before. "Did it work? How was it?"

"It was all right. Not nearly as good as…." He stopped, embarrassed. "I mean, it tastes vile, but it was useful at times."

"Excellent," she said, watching him. Then she said, "I've been practicing making Blood-Replenisher, too." She pulled a vial out of a pocket of her robes. "See? Do you know I got an O on my Potions O.W.L.? Good practice." She smiled. "And good study partner."

"Oh. That's, um, good," he said. His heart seemed loud in his ears.

Some prefects walked by the door window, talking loudly. They watched them go by.

"I heard…" Selda paused. "I heard Lily Evans is Head Girl this year."

Snape gritted his teeth. "And _Potter_ is Head Boy, yeah, I heard." And, judging from the glimpse he'd had of the two of them back on the platform, they were more chummy than ever. The thought made him want to curse everything in sight, but he was trying to focus his energies elsewhere.

"Did you talk at all this summer?" Her voice was hesitant.

"No," he said. That door was closed, the wall was built, and he wasn't going to try to open it all up again.

Just then, Avery stuck his head into the compartment. "Snape? Mulciber wants a quick D.A.S. meeting before we get in to Hogsmeade."

"I'm coming." Avery disappeared, and Snape got up. There would be so much to do this year, preparing….

"D.A.S.?" Selda asked. "What's that?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Just a club we've got going."

"What does it stand for?" He didn't answer. She studied him carefully, then said, "Dark Arts Society?"

He looked at her, surprised, and she rolled her eyes. "A club called the D.A.S., with Mulciber _and_ Avery in it? I'm not thick, what else is it going to be?" She eyed him. "What are you meeting about?"

"It's a _secret_ club," he told her pointedly.

"Secrets," she said heavily, and crossed her arms. "I don't understand why you would want to be part of that."

"Why wouldn't I?" Why couldn't they understand? Someday soon, no one, especially not arrogant bastards like Potter and Black, would be able to tell him what to do, would be able to take whatever they wanted from him, would be able to toy with him anymore. The D.A.S. was just a step on the way to that.

Her face flickered a look of anger or disgust, and he added quickly, "I don't see what business it is of yours, anyway."

She narrowed her eyes. "I guess it's not."

"So maybe you should just stay out of it," he snapped. "You sound like Lily."

She turned her head away and didn't reply. Snape felt a pang of regret. It wasn't even just about the blood, he didn't think.

"Sorry," he said, quietly. She didn't look at him. He should say more, he thought, but he didn't know what, and he was going to be late.

"I'll see you later?" he said, from the door of the compartment. She stared out the window, but nodded as he left.

#

That evening, right after the opening feast, Selda seemed more agitated than he had ever seen her before. As soon as he left the Great Hall, she grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him down into the dungeon storeroom where they had first met up.

"Selda?" he said, as she locked the door and conjured flames in a jar next to it. She was moving jerkily, and immediately began pacing back and forth across the length of the storeroom, fists clenched, not looking at him, not even taking out her wand. "Are you…?"

Abruptly she cornered him, still not meeting his eyes, and said, "Now. Bite me."

"All right," he said, a little alarmed at the pacing, her hollow stare. "Where do you—"

"Here," she said, pulling open the top of her robes. Her unmarked neck. Snape caught his breath.

"But… how will you hide it?" he asked, fighting to stay calm, to keep control, to resist the urge to pounce right then. He could still be expelled, found out, he had to _think…_.

She made a sound too unpleasant to be a laugh. "Come on, Snape," she said, taunting. She suddenly pulled out, not her wand, but her folding knife, and flicked it open. "You're a terrible vampire," she said, as she brought the knife up to the soft spot between the base of her throat and her left collarbone.

Her hand was shaking so hard that Snape was afraid, and he caught it, carefully, before she could break the skin. "Hey," he said, trying to speak in a soothing voice. "It's all right. Let me." She stared at him, barely seeing through the shadowed pain in her brown eyes. "Please," he said, and she nodded.

He took the knife and, reaching, placed it on a shelf behind her shoulder. He turned slowly back. She had turned her face to one side and closed her eyes. He pushed her dark hair back; he felt like he was trembling all over, looking at the curve of her neck, the pulse slightly visible, the rise and fall of her chest. _Control, Snape,_ he told himself. _Slowly_. He leaned in, his lips almost touching her skin, when he suddenly realized something.

"Wait," he said, straightening up a little.

"What?" Selda's voice was harsh, impatient.

"Here," he said, fumbling in his pocket, pulling out his wand and handing it to her. "You'll want this first."

Selda stood so still he thought for a moment she wasn't breathing at all. She stared down at it in her hand. Oh no, Snape thought, groaning inwardly. Did I ruin the moment? He only hadn't wanted her to freak out if she remembered he still had his wand in a minute or two. She looked up again, and there were tears – _tears?_ – running down her cheeks. He took a step back in dismay.

"I… I'm sorry, what did I—" he began, when she launched herself up at him. He half-caught her, clumsily, and her arms were around his neck, and she—

She was kissing him.

His mind raced. In seventeen years, Snape had never kissed anyone. He had tried to stop thinking about it at all after fifth year, after Lily…. He knew he would never love anyone else, and he didn't want to. And yet here he was, and he found that as long as he kept that door in his mind to Lily shut tight… it wasn't bad. Weird maybe – there was the taste of her tears, and his own ridiculous nose in the way, and he felt unsure about what his lips and tongue were supposed to be doing exactly, but Selda seemed to be confident enough. After perhaps five seconds of frozen disbelief, a sort of fog seemed to pour over his brain, and it all became very… pleasant.

Unfortunately, he swayed a little, stepped wrong on the side of his foot, and stumbled, almost falling over onto her. Broken apart, Selda stared up at him, looking stricken. She put her hand to her mouth, and his stomach sank. _Regretting it already,_ sneered a nasty voice in his head. _Should have known._ Anger flared in his stomach. _I didn't ask you to jump me,_ he thought, _it's not my fault you're sorry now..._

She backed up a step, toward the back wall, and said, quickly, "Sorry. Just lost my head. It doesn't mean anything."

He asked slowly, "It doesn't?"

She retreated and sat down on the floor with a bump, avoiding his gaze. "Doesn't have to." She put her head in her hands for a minute before saying in a small voice, "I just don't want to ruin things."

Snape stood for a long moment by the door, hearing the words again in his mind. Then he moved forward, sat down next to her on the floor, and handed her a somewhat ragged handkerchief from his pocket.

She half-laughed, wiping the tears from her face. Another silence, and then she looked down at her hands and said, "What do we do now?"

"Well…." His stomach felt odd, twisted, as he looked at her. "We could… try that again, maybe I could not fall over my feet like an idiot this time." _Did I really just say that_, he thought. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It took an eternity for Selda to lift her head and look at him, her mouth agape.

"But what about…? Never mind," she said quickly, her glance flickering away.

He reached out and turned her face up toward his, his hand a little shaky, the fingertips barely brushing her cheek. Her eyes were huge and questioning. "Selly," he said. "I'm _here_." _With you._

One breathless, trembling pause, and they kissed again, Snape's hand on her cheek, Selda holding his other hand with both of hers. Her lips were impossibly soft, her breath warm, she smelled faintly of lavender… his whole skin seemed to be buzzing, his head clouded and yet somehow incandescent.

Finally she pulled back a little, tipping her head so that their foreheads were touching. He took a breath. Selda raised a hand and touched his lips, then made a very small sound, almost a laugh, that he could only think of as pure delight.

He leaned his head against the wall, his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her upturned face. His mind was so pleasantly blank, but… _Is everything different now?_ he wondered.

"Well," she said, softly, playing with the fingers of his other hand, "that's not exactly what we came in here for."

"I suppose not," he said.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "It's been a long summer, you're probably, um, hungry."

"Well…" he said, slowly. "But... you look so… happy."

Her smile was like sunlight as she put her head back and laughed. "Still."

"Yeah, but…." He struggled with himself for a moment, but couldn't help it. "Well, you do have a lovely neck," he said, wistfully.

She laughed again, and reached up, pushing back her hair.


	8. Chapter 8 - Unforgiveable

**Chapter**** 5**

Early November, and they were sitting at a table in the Slytherin common room, books open. Snape was doing an essay on Occlumency (child's play, he thought privately; he'd been studying it on his own since the summer after fifth year), but couldn't help noticing that Selda was looking odd as she read from her Defense Against Dark Arts book.

"You look like you ate something bad at dinner," he said, but she only shook her head. "What are you studying?"

"Reviewing the Unforgiveable Curses," she said.

"Oh." Snape glanced over at Mulciber and Avery, who were sitting in armchairs a few feet away. "We just sta—" He cut himself off immediately. D.A.S. activities were supposed to be secret, of course, and Selda's views on it all were pretty clear.

"Started what?"

Oh no, he thought. She had that look. He knew she didn't actually practice Legilimency, but it sure seemed like it sometimes. "What?" he said, expressionlessly.

Her eyes narrowed. _She knows,_ Snape thought. _Why does she always _know_ things? _

"Started what, Severus?" she asked in a low voice. "_Practicing_ them?"

He said nothing, but it didn't seem to matter. She stared at him, then stood up and slapped him across the face, hard. People around them exclaimed or jeered, but she paid no attention, just turned and ran out of the common room.

"Ooo, have a fight with your girlfriend, Snape?" Avery sneered.

"She's not my girlfriend," he protested automatically, as he stood and followed her out.

The corridor was deserted. He had no idea which way she might have gone. For a minute he stood, indecisive. Maybe he should give her time to cool off. But something about her face…. He pulled out his wand and said, "_Inveniet._" It was the locating spell Selda had invented. The end of his wand lit up dimly, and he moved it from one side to the other. On the right it glowed brighter, so he headed that direction.

Snape made his way through the corridors, following the brightness of the wand-end. Just as he realized that he was at the bottom of the astronomy tower, he heard an angry scream from above. He ran up the spiral stairs, two at a time.

The classroom just under the observatory was deserted, but wrecked. Star charts torn, chairs toppled. "Selda!" he called, but heard no answer. He saw that some black robes were thrown across one of the desks, and that the door to the observatory staircase was open.

He rushed to the top, and saw Selda standing by the stone parapet, looking out towards the lake and hills beyond. She was wearing Muggle clothing, and not much of it, a tank top and cut-off jeans, and her feet were bare. The late autumn wind was biting, and Snape felt cold just seeing her.

"Selda?" In the light of the mostly full moon he could see the old scars on her back, and the newer ones on her neck. He came up behind her and laid a hand carefully on her shoulder.

Her eyes were on the horizon, her voice bored-sounding. "Here for a bite? Come on, let's go."

"No, Selly. I'm not. Are you…?"

She turned, pushed him away, and then kissed him roughly. He put his hands on her arms, but suddenly she bit his lip, viciously. He shouted and jerked away, eyes watering from the pain.

"Not interested any more, _Snivellus_? Not hungry? What kind of monster _are_ you?" She screamed the last at him, a throat-tearing sound. He stared at her, hand at his mouth, shocked.

She closed her eyes where she stood, swaying a little in the moonlight. "Why can't you just do it." Her voice was hoarse now, no more than a ragged whisper. "Why can't you just kill me."

He couldn't speak. How could she think that he would… that he would want to… but suddenly she turned, and started to run toward the parapet, toward the edge of the tower. Too fast.

_Oh no._ He leapt forward, grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. She elbowed him in the eye, fighting not him but only to get away, to get to the edge.

He had to do something, it was like wrestling a niffler, and he was _losing_. He swung her over to one of the stone pillars behind them. "Selly, _stop._" She started forward again, but he pushed her back, dropped to his knees and bit her bare thigh, hard. Her breath hissed through her teeth, and she grabbed his hair, pulling it painfully, but he kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching till the look of madness in her eyes seemed to fade.

He let go and she slid down the pillar till she was sitting on the ground in front of him, leaning back and breathing less wildly.

"Drink this," he said, handing her a vial of Blood-Replenisher from a pocket of his robes. She made a face, but gulped it down, and he watched in silence as some color came into her cheeks.

A long moment later she stretched out an arm, touching his swollen eye, and then his bloody lip. "Sorry," she said, her head leaned back against the stone. Her voice was still scratchy.

He shrugged, sitting back and rubbing his knees, which were definitely going to be bruised. "We both know you're better at Muggle-fighting than me."

"You could've just cast a spell on me," she said. "Binding or something."

Oh, yeah. Idiot, he thought at himself. But he knew she would've hated that. Not just hated – despised, loathed, detested… maybe never forgiven him. "Ah, but I value my hands," he said, dryly. "Kind of need them for my N.E.W.T.s this year."

She smiled a small, crooked smile, and then put her forehead down on her knees. "Yeah. N.E.W.T.s." She paused, then said, muffled, "I can't believe you'll be gone next year."

Snape was taken aback, touched even, but didn't try to fool himself; this was far more than anything about him. He took her cold hands in his. "Selly," he said very quietly when she looked up, "What the bloody hell was all that about?"

She turned her head away. "It was just… the curses… And I can't believe you're…." She struggled, inarticulate. "I can't explain. I can't tell you."

Snape was surprised to find himself feeling hurt. "Selda," he said, "of course you can tell me. Try."

Now she turned her face to him, and terrible effort showed on it. "No," she said, very softly, sounding choked. "_I can't_."

His mind whirled, and something clicked. The Unforgiveable Curses…. "You're under an Imperius Curse," he said softly. She only stared at him, unmoving, pain all over her face, her forehead beaded with sweat. "So you can't talk about…." His eyes passed over her shoulders, the old scarring on her back. "Things."

Selda was quivering all over, her breathing fast and uneven. "No, don't," he said. "Don't try to say anything." He slid his arms around her, and she clung to the front of his robes, silent, her face buried in his chest.

Everything was falling into an ugly pattern in his mind as he stroked her hair. Her father. It had to be him. Though of course she couldn't confirm it, that or anything else he might have done to her…. Snape had never felt such a cold, murderous rage in his life.

After a few minutes, he said quietly, "I could kill him for you. I could go tomorrow." Her fists on his robe tightened. "Or I can teach you the Avada Kedavra. You can do it yourself, if you'd rather."

She shook her head. "Some people are … too strong to fight," she said.

"We have to do something," he said.

She pulled away, a touch impatiently. "I'm underage," she said, staring at the floor. "I can't do anything outside of school, I'll get expelled, I won't be able to come back, I'll have to stay…." She swallowed. "I got three warnings the summer after third year, for magic outside of school. I can't have another."

He thought of all the shield and protective spells she knew, more than anyone he'd ever met – _useless_. His heart twisted in him. "There must be something, something. If only you could report it…." He looked at her, an idea growing. "Some people break the Imperius."

She gave a dreadful smile, bitter and hopeless, and closed her eyes. "If they're strong-willed enough, I know. I've… tried. Every day." She whispered the last.

"Or," he said, "if they have practice."

Silence. Selda slowly opened her eyes, looking at him, and Snape had never seen such naked fear anywhere. And – perhaps – hope as well.

"Severus, I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know if I can—"

"Not even with me?"

She clutched her knees and rocked. "I don't know, I don't know…" Her whisper was almost a whine, a keen of terror.

_Don't push it,_ he thought. "Just think about it," he said, hands on her shoulders, peering down into her face.

She nodded. "I will."

"Good." He held out his arms, and she slipped into his lap, his arms circling around her. "I'll help you, Selly. I promise." He put his face into her hair and thought, _I'll take care of you._


	9. Chapter 9

The Great Hall was noisy at lunch, and it made good cover for their conversation a few days later at the end of the Slytherin table.

"I don't know if I _can_," she said, fidgeting with her spoon. "I don't know if I can let you… curse me." She almost laughed. "I couldn't even let someone take their turn practicing Cheering Charms on me in Flitwick's class third year."

"You have to be able to tell," he said. They sat side by side, but, as always, didn't touch or hardly acknowledge one another in public. "Unless you think it would be enough to just show Madame Pomfrey or something, show her your back…." Ever since her fall at the lake, Selda had been spending time every week helping Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary. She seemed to trust her, maybe she would be willing to at least try… but the idea of revealing _all _her scars was frightening to Snape. It turned out that dittany, though it helped the wounds heal more quickly, could not prevent scarring from vampire bites.

Selda was shaking her head, struggling to speak. "All or nothing," she finally was able to get out. "I can't take the chance that… it wouldn't be enough."

And that you might have to go back, with him knowing you tried to tell…. Snape raged inside but nodded.

"Severus." Her voice was low and urgent. "What if we're caught? You're of age – they could send you to Azkaban."

He nodded – it had occurred to him. "What else can we do? Are you just going to go back again this summer, back to that… trap?" His voice fell to a whisper. "Is he ever going to let you go?"

She leaned her head on one hand. "You're right," she said at last. "I know." She looked up at him, and her eyes were overlarge with dismay. "But Severus – _dementors_…."

He interrupted her. "_You_ should be more worried about whether I can even do it right," he started, then shut his mouth. This was unhelpful. An improperly performed Imperius Curse could result in serious mental damage, it was true, but there was no need to dwell on it. And he wasn't worried about that part – he'd had plenty of D.A.S. practice on insects, animals…. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. _So what _are _you worried about, then?_ he asked himself.

She stared at him, very pale. "Tonight," she said.

#

They stood facing each other in the Arithmancy classroom, door locked, warning spell cast in case of approachers.

Snape took out his wand, slowly. "Are you sure my hands are safe?" he said lightly, trying to catch her eye. Selda gave a half-hearted laugh, nodding. She twisted her wand in her hands, pale and shaking, then took a breath, and slid it into her pocket.

"I'm ready," she whispered.

"All right," he said, trying to sound calm. "We'll start with something small, shall we?" He pointed his wand at her. "_Imperio!_"

She closed her eyes, and her face went calm, almost slack. When she opened her eyes, they were empty, unfocused.

He looked around the room quickly, thinking. He had cast the curse lightly, on purpose, and he needed to act quickly… _Jump up on that desk, _he ordered non-verbally, _and to the next, and the next…_

Selda turned to the desk beside her. Then she stopped, and, making a little half-jump, crashed into the desk and then onto the floor.

Snape scrambled over to her. "Are you all right?" She nodded, rubbing her shins. "That was good! You resisted it—"

She glared at him. "Was that really the best you can do?" she demanded.

He didn't reply.

She hit the floor with a fist. "Dammit, Severus, be serious!" she hissed at him. "I need real practice, not namby-pamby little orders. This is never going to help if you don't do it for real. Tell me to do something hard."

"I just thought…"

"Thought what? This is hard enough for me as it is, I feel—" She shuddered, and spoke quietly. "I feel like I might die when you point your wand at me." She swallowed, and then continued, heatedly. "We can't waste time. What were you going to do next, have me skip around the room? Sing a little song? Tell me to kiss you?"

He looked away. Her voice softened, he could hear an almost-smile in it. "It has to be something I _don't_ want to do anyway, dear, or what's the point?"

"Fine," he said shortly, getting up. "For real." As soon as she was on her feet again, he said, "_Imperio!_"

This time he cast it strongly, and held the connection to be sure. For him, it was as if he were holding a tiny Selda figure in a clear bag. He could feel her fighting to get out, to resist the spell, almost as if he held a small animal in his hands, twisting frantically, heart pounding. But he controlled the bag, could move and manipulate it any way he desired, and there was nothing she could do….

Something she wouldn't want to do, he thought. _Give me your wand,_ he ordered. He could feel her struggling within the spell, but he held it closely. _Give it to me._

She reached into her pocket, drew out the wand, and put it in his outstretched hand.

Snape stared at her, ugliness bubbling inside him. He could make her do anything, _anything_… he could suck her dry and not have to stop… he could set her on Potter, or anyone he wanted, and she'd probably curse him into oblivion, too… he could keep her under his control forever and never worry about whether she would reveal his secret…. A nasty part of him wanted to _squeeze_ the bag, just to see what would happen….

He didn't want to think any of this, not about _her_, this was all supposed to stay locked away, in the D.A.S. room of his mind, it was never supposed to touch her. It wasn't enough that he was using her, that he knew perfectly well that she… felt more for him than he ever would for her, and now he was thinking things like this? But he had to do something, he had promised to help…. Something difficult, and abhorrent….

He put her wand back in her hand, stepped back, and ordered, _Cruciate._

He felt her struggling turn to thrashing about within the Imperius, and for a moment she didn't move. Maybe this will work, he thought.

_Do it. Do it now._

"_Crucio!_" Her wand hand flashed up, and Snape fell backward into the wall, and to the stone floor. Though short-lived, the pain was like every inch of his skin being peeled from his flesh, like every bone in his body shattering, like a white-hot spear pinning him through the chest, he couldn't breathe through it – and it left him shaking and twitching all over, with tears blinding his eyes.

The Imperius curse snapped when he hit the floor. Selda cried out, dropping her wand, and ran over to where he lay curled on his side.

"You are such an idiot, how could you even—" She was babbling as she helped him slowly sit up.

"Don't suppose it worked, did it?" Snape tried to speak lightly, but he couldn't seem to stop shuddering, and his muscles felt like water.

She paused for a moment. "No." Then she reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his face to her. "And we are _not_ doing that again, understand? We'll… we'll just have to think of some other commands to try." The look on her face, terror and bravery still in her eyes – to his own shock and dismay, Snape's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and his throat closed up beyond speech for a moment. "Severus?"

He turned his face away, closing his eyes – he would have walked away but he didn't think his legs would work yet. "I don't know if –"

"If?"

"If I can do this again," he said, his voice choked.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I _know_, I know how it…." Selda sounded just as choked. "I'm sorry, I tried to stop it, I just…."

Even worse; it wasn't _her_ fault. He shook his head. "No, I…." He couldn't seem to speak louder than a whisper. "I keep hurting you, I don't want…." _I don't want to be a monster. Not to you._

Selda made a sobbing noise in her throat. "You're not!" Snape gave her a look, and she half-laughed. "All right, but I know, I know you don't want to… to hurt me. It's all right…."

_But I did want to_, he thought, but did not say. _That's the trouble._

She knelt beside him, taking his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes, brown meeting black. "Severus Snape," she said, "I trust you."

He took a gulping, shuddering breath, as if he'd been hit in the chest. She kissed him, then just knelt, pressing her forehead to his.

_Oh Selly,_ he thought, eyes closed. _You'd be so much better off… but I promised to help._ And the thought of not seeing her made his stomach hurt.

"All right," he said, testing his limbs, standing. "Again."


	10. Chapter 10 - Gifts

**Chapter**** 6**

Early Christmas morning, Snape was alone in his dormitory room, still asleep, when something bounced on the end of his bed, jolting him awake. He shouted, still half in a dream, grabbing for his wand, but stopped when he realized it was only Selda, grinning, in a dark green nightgown, her hair pulled in a braid over one shoulder.

"Happy Christmas!" she told him cheerily, bouncing a little more on the mattress, her hands hidden behind her back.

He sat up and rubbed his face. "Ugh, Selly, you scared the dickens out of me. What time is it, anyway?" It did not seem very light outside, even taking into account the iced lake water out the window. Ridiculously early, and here he was in his overlarge nightshirt. He pulled the covers up more securely around his waist. She'd never come into his room before.

"Time for presents, of course!" she said. "Didn't you hang up your stocking last night?"

"No," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Do I _look_ five years old?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, Severus. But what about your mother, doesn't she send you anything for Christmas?"

He shrugged. "Not much. What about you?"

"My older brother sent some books." She paused, then said, "So I guess you'll just have to hold out your hands, then."

"What?"

"For your present from me." She waited, expectantly.

He looked at her askance, but put out his hands.

"And close your eyes," she insisted. He rolled his eyes, but closed them, and then felt her set something hard and cornered into his hands.

"All right, you can look," she said.

Opening his eyes, he saw a small, square wooden box with a hinged lid in his palms. It was very plain, made of dark, polished wood, but felt sturdy. "Oh," he said. "A box."

She smacked his knee. "Open it, you idiot," she told him.

Pushing back the lid, he saw that it had a small tray in the top filled with clear glass phials. He lifted off the tray, and then found that he could reach his hand all the way into the box, though it was much too small for that, and pull out a canvas bag with a label: Eagle Owl Feathers. Then a jar that said Armadillo Bile, and another bag: Starthistle.

"Selda," he said, "how much is in here?"

She smiled. "I put an Extension Charm on the box," she said. "And put in a few supplies. I don't know how many things you can fit in altogether, but it's a fair few." She looked at him, a little anxiously. "A portable Potions cupboard. I hope you like it."

"_Like_ it?" he said, still peering in and pulling out more jars and bottles. "Selly, it's the best..." He sputtered, feeling stupid and inadequate. "Thank you," he said, looking into her eyes.

She turned red, but smiled. "Good. I'm glad."

Now Snape felt like an idiot. "I, um, have something for you, but it's small, it's nowhere near as good as this." He turned, setting the box on the bedside table, groped under his bed, and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in a blue cloth. He already wanted to make excuses for it, but bit his tongue and merely said, "Happy Christmas," as he handed it to her.

Selda looked pleased just holding the package, and settled herself cross-legged at the foot of the bed. She slowly unwound the cloth. It seemed to take forever for her to get to the center, revealing a roughly-carved and brightly-colored figure of a bird on a perch.

"Oh!" she said after half a second, her face clearing. "A phoenix!"

Snape grimaced. "At least it's recognizable." She opened her mouth, probably to protest, but he shook his head. "Tap it with your wand," he told her.

She looked at him quizzically, but took out her wand and did so. The little figure began to move, stiffly, ungracefully. It stretched, then opened its beak jerkily. But a perfect sound of phoenix song, low and a bit melancholy, came out.

Selda's mouth fell open as she listened. "Severus, it sounds _beautiful!_" she said, looking up at him. "Did you make it?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, but nodded. He'd put all his effort into the charm for the song - at least that was decent. "Only I know sometimes you have bad dreams and all," he muttered, looking away. "You have your own shield charms and protection spells, I thought maybe you'd like a little music at night, while you're going to sleep." Stupid idea, he thought now. He didn't have much to spend on presents though, and it had been the best thing he could think of.

Selda's hand appeared in his line of sight, touching his knee through the blanket. "It's _not_ a stupid idea," she said quietly. "It's the best gift anyone's given me." He looked up. "Ever."

"Well... good," he said.

He leaned down and kissed her gently, lips barely brushing hers. She gave a tiny sighing sound and moved nearer, deepening the kiss, and he put his hands into her hair. Was this the moment? Taking a breath, he traced the fingers of one hand along her cheek, down her neck, just under the edge of the collar of her nightgown. She made a sound, almost a hum, into his mouth, reached her own hand up to her buttons and began to undo them. At the same time, she laid a hand on his chest and tugged on the laces at the top of his nightshirt. His head was swirling, and he reached around her, drawing her closer with a low noise almost like a growl.

Suddenly she pulled back, not quite out of his reach, her collar hanging open five buttons' worth, the lovely curve of her breasts exposed... he blinked hard, and shook his head slightly, trying to clear it. What was happening?

Before he could speak, she put her hands over her face and bent double over her knees, mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…."

"Selly? Are you…?" He wanted to reach out, put his arms around her, but he didn't dare. Instead, he slid off the bed and knelt on the floor, trying to see into her face. Cautiously, he put a hand on her head. She turned her face and looked at him – dry-eyed, but her breathing was shuddery.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, stroking her face where the tears would have been. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…."

She gave a choked half-laugh. "Severus, you are the shyest, slowest-moving boy I've ever… I've been wanting you to do that _forever_." _Really?_ The thought skidded across his mind, then disappeared as she touched his face, his mouth. "I thought maybe you didn't want to," she said.

He snorted incredulously. "Only every day," he said. She half-laughed, half-sobbed again, and kissed his hand, closing her eyes. He brushed her eyelids with his thumb, so softly. It had occurred to him that something like this might happen. He didn't know details about her life over the summers, but…. "I'm still sorry. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

She turned her head back, pressing her face into the mattress, and this time a real sob escaped her. "But I do want to," she said at last, and the pain in her voice stabbed at him. "I…." She looked at him again. "This isn't my… first," she said, watching his face carefully. The not-boyfriends, he thought, and though this twisted in his gut as well, he kept his face very still and nodded. "But it is the first time that I want to… to be _here_ for it all." She closed her eyes. "But it's hard, my mind keeps trying to sort of escape, I guess? And sometimes I'm just… afraid."

Snape wished he could kill her father, poison him slowly, feed him alive piece by piece to an Acromantula… but they were practicing, trying to break the curse, and dementors would be better than anything he could think up. And none of that was what mattered right now. "I know," he said as gently as he could. "Just tell me. Anything I can, anything you want me to do…."

She looked at him and half-smiled, a little mischievously. "Anything? Oh my…."

Snape felt his cheeks growing red. He wanted to disappear under the bed. "Or not do," he said, a little sullenly. "It's not like I really know what I'm doing." He blushed harder. _Just shut your mouth,_ he told himself, horrified, now wanting to sink through the floor, waiting for laughter, or an awkward silence, or….

Selda slid down off the bed with a thump, landing right in his lap, and pulled him into a fantastic, head-spinning kiss. It knocked every thought clear out of his mind, and when she moaned against his tongue and arched her neck, he automatically kissed his way down it, over her collarbone, to her open neckline, the swell of her cleavage….

They broke off, both panting. She looked into his eyes and said, earnestly, with a wide-eyed trace of a smile, "Could have fooled me."


	11. Chapter 11 - Betrayal

**Chapter 7**

The Hogwarts grounds were a little foggy, and mostly deserted. It was an unseasonably chilly late May evening when Snape met up with some of the D.A.S. in the shadow of the castle walls.

"So the next one to pass by alone, that's who we'll do them on, right?" Gibbon was fidgety, bouncing on the balls of his feet and craning his neck to see if anyone was coming.

"We know, Gibbon," said Avery in a bored voice. "But it's not even your turn, it's Snape's first night, since he's deigned to show up for once."

Snape ignored the jibe. "Isn't this a little exposed for practicing highly illegal curses?" he asked smoothly. It was almost full dark, but the expanse of grass in front of them seemed very open.

"Relax, Snape," said Avery. "We've been meeting here for weeks, never a problem yet. Which you would know if you were serious about the Society."

Snape felt a pang of worry – was this how things stood now? – but kept his face smooth. It wouldn't do to show weakness. "Some of us spend a little time studying, Avery," he said, still using the silky voice he'd been cultivating lately. "You should try it some time. I might not have to spend so much time teaching you the more creative hexes if you did." Avery's face reddened.

Snape smiled – a point scored. "I suppose someone _is_ going to come along eventually? It just seems rather random for effective practice." To himself, he was thinking that he couldn't stay all night; he was supposed to meet Selda for more Imperius practice later, after she was done working with Madame Pomfrey in the infirmary. They had been at it at least once a week for months now, with no success. Snape thought it might be because she was already under one, and thus it was like trying to break two curses at once, and the first one remarkably strong. Even with the snogging afterward, it was still grueling work every time, with Selda shaking with terror barely held in check. And he wouldn't want her to come looking for him here.

Mulciber spoke. "Practice, Snape?" His deep, heavy voice seemed amused. "This isn't practice. It's time for you to prove you're willing to really use Unforgiveables." He looked Snape up and down. "Don't worry, we'll do a memory charm after. No one's going to know. And even if they did – we could just leave. Who needs N.E.W.T.s when the Dark Lord is waiting to take us in?" He smiled a little. "Well, if you do well tonight, anyway. You're talented, Snape, it'd be a shame for you to miss out."

Snape let his eyelids droop and smirked a little at Mulciber, hiding the twist of anxiety in his gut. Mulciber, always styling himself the leader, just because his father was already a high-ranking Death Eater. And we let him, Snape thought, because just maybe he _does_ have some influence, and who wants to run grunt-work errands if you could avoid it, if you could somehow start a little higher up come summer…. It was all very well to think that his own considerable abilities could earn him a place, but he wasn't stupid enough to discount any possible advantages. He hoped someone would come by soon so he could get it over with. Maybe it would be Potter, though he shouldn't expect to be so lucky….

"Here we go," said Gibbon, pointing to an approaching figure.

Snape looked, and felt something clamp down inside him, like a steel trap on his innards. It was Selda. She was walking from the direction of the greenhouses, carrying a tall basket of something leafy.

He glanced sidelong at Mulciber. There was a trace of smugness on his face. You planned this, thought Snape. Or at least hoped for it. He knew Mulciber was just waiting for him to object, and that that would be the end of his Death Eater ambitions. His mind raced – how could he warn her off, without betraying himself?

Too late. She was close now. Avery and Gibbon had disappeared into the shadows. "Come on then," said Mulciber, and pushed Snape forward with a hand on his shoulder.

Selda hesitated, peering at the movement through the darkness, then saw Snape and seemed to relax.

"Severus? What…?" she began, but just then Avery said, "_Immobulus!_" from behind her, and she was frozen in place, her eyes wide, hands still closed on the two basket handles. Avery and Gibbon came around from behind, so that the four of them stood in a semi-circle in front of her.

"A little fun at last. Here, isn't this one of yours, Snape?" Avery asked, and flicked his wand. An ugly cut appeared across Selda's left cheek, trickling blood. Gibbon laughed nastily.

"That's not what we're here for," Mulciber said. "It's Snape's big night. Go on, then."

"Yeah, use _crucio_," said Gibbon eagerly.

Snape stepped forward slowly, his wand out. The steel trap inside him felt like it was crushing his lungs. He could feel Selda's eyes on him, panicked, and he did the only thing he could think of.

"_Imperio!_"

Avery released his immobilizing charm, and Selda stood motionless, but no longer frozen. The basket she was holding dropped to the ground and fell over, spilling night-blooming gillyflower across the grass. The slightly over-sweet scent drifted around them.

Once again, Snape held the connection tightly, but this time because he was afraid his emotions would get the better of him, that he would lose control and then what would happen? If Selda tried to fight them… Mulciber might use the killing curse on her. Or even him, for that matter. Mulciber was unpredictable at best. Better the Imperius than the Cruciatus. Wasn't it? There had to be something he could do to solve this mess, to separate the parts of his life again, he just needed time to think. _Besides,_ whispered that nasty voice in his mind again, _memory charm. What she doesn't remember…._

He shuddered. Again, he could feel Selda inside the curse, a mouse in a bag, or a bird battering against glass. The trap bit harder inside him.

"Ahh, excellent," said Mulciber. "Make her kneel."

Uneasily, Snape did. She seemed almost shrunken, a small figure in the grass, her eyes blank.

"Now what?" asked Avery. "What next?"

"Oh," said Mulciber, stepping forward, "I can think of a few things."

Snape felt sick. Unwillingly, he had the tiny thought, _Lily was right about you…._ "No," he began. "Think of something else…."

"Squeamish?" Mulciber spoke low and dangerously. "What a disappointment." He nodded at Gibbon, who grinned and lifted his wand, pointing it at Selda. "_Cru-_"

In that second, although he held the Imperius as tightly as ever, Snape felt a jolt, as though the glass of the curse had exploded in his hands. The force of it made him stagger and slip, falling to his hands and knees. At the same instant, Selda whipped out her wand and was surrounded by her glowing shield. The Cruciatus curse Gibbon was casting rebounded against the surface and hit Avery, who fell to the ground, screaming. Mulciber turned quickly toward her, raising his wand, but not quickly enough; she hit him with a stunning spell that knocked him twenty feet backwards. Gibbon turned to run, and ended up in a double somersault from another stunning spell.

Avery was still wailing on the ground, and Selda stunned him as well. The sudden silence pounded in Snape's ears. He looked up – her wand was pointed right between his eyes.

He stared at the wand tip, only a few feet in front of him, because he couldn't bring himself to look at her face. Even still, he could see there were tears running down her cheeks, silvery in the shield-light. He felt… the steel trap inside him was still there, chewing his organs to pieces, crushing everything… the torn edges grated together, painfully, dissonantly. The walls of his life were crumbling, threatening collapse, and he had no idea what to do without them. He had no life without them. What did I do, he thought. Then he opened his mouth and it only got worse.

"Lily, I…." He heard his own words and wanted to bite his tongue right out.

The wand trembled in front of him, but she didn't shout. "'Lily,'" she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her, and shook her head. "Severus, you never would have done this to Lily."

His mouth dropped open. "Selda, I… I tried… I couldn't…." _Pathetic whining,_ said that nasty voice, but he would have gone on anyway; she cut him off.

"Tried? _Tried?_" Her voice shook. "You couldn't _try_ to just… help me? Say no to your _friends_? You…"

Here it comes, Snape thought. _Monster, vampire_ – as if she had to tell him. As if he didn't already know it himself.

"Coward," she said. Her voice was low, and nearly emotionless, in spite of the tears still streaming from her eyes, dripping off her chin.

They stared at each other. He let his head fall, till he was looking at the ground.

The silver light of the shield dimmed, and when he looked up again she had let her wand arm drop.

"It was my father," she said quietly.

Snape looked at her sharply. It worked?

She stood very still, very straight, her eyes unfocused. "He did the Imperius on me every year, just before school, so I couldn't tell anyone the things he did. To me, to other children in the neighborhood." She faltered, closing her eyes. "He made me bring them to the house. He wiped their memories after. I used to wish he'd do that to me, but he never did." Her hand strayed up to her throat, as if of its own accord. "I used to scream… he started casting the silencing charm on me, beforehand, but my throat would still be raw for days afterwards." Her eyes still closed, she swayed where she stood. Snape made a convulsive movement, as if to catch her, but her eyes snapped open. "Don't. Touch me."

At that moment, he became conscious of running footsteps behind him.

"Griselda?" It was the voice of Madame Pomfrey, a little out of breath. "Are you all right? I saw lights from the window, and screaming—"

"Merlin's beard!" This was Professor Flitwick, Charms teacher, his voice even squeakier than usual with astonishment. "What happened here?"

Snape looked around – three students unconscious, Selda looking shaky, with blood and tears all over her face, and his stomach sank. It was really the end this time.

Madame Pomfrey took one look at Selda, glared at Snape, and immediately said, "Everyone up to the infirmary, and we will sort this out there." She and Flitwick levitated Mulciber, Gibbon, and Avery, and they all marched back up to the front of the castle.

Snape felt like he could barely walk through the corridors as they approached the hospital wing. He didn't dare run… and how was he going to explain this to Mulciber, when he eventually woke up? They would be expelled for sure, or even sent to Azkaban. A thought crossed his spinning mind: _If you help them sneak out tonight…._ The pieces of his life grated against each other. _Name of Merlin! What is wrong with you?_ he thought. _After everything that's happened…_ His head hurt, he couldn't think.

You need to know what you want. This thought came clear and heavy, like dropping a stone into the lake, but it was followed closely by the familiar nastiness: _Or what you deserve…._

They entered the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey must have somehow summoned the headmaster, because Dumbledore was standing there waiting for them, his eyes very grave over his half-moon spectacles. Reflexively, Snape summoned up all his powers of Occlumency. Though much good it'll do, he thought, despairingly.

Dumbledore watched silently as Madame Pomfrey and Flitwick settled the three boys onto beds. "What happened, Poppy?" he asked in a quiet voice once she had turned around.

Madame Pomfrey seated Selda on a fourth bed, and spoke angrily. "I'm not sure, Headmaster. I sent my assistant here out, for night-blooming gillyflower from the greenhouses – oh, I'm sorry, dear!" She interrupted herself, in the middle of dabbing Selda's cut face with an ointment, and placed a hand on her arm. "I should have gone with you. Bad things have been happening this year, strange injuries, students with muddled memories…" She glared again at Snape, who stood very still, stony-faced; then turned her attention back to Dumbledore. "Then I heard screams, very faintly from the grounds, and saw lights, and I hurried out, I met Filius in the hall and asked him to accompany me…."

Dumbledore turned a questioning eye on Flitwick, and he spoke in his squeaky voice. "And we found these five on the lawns. The three boys look to be heavily Stunned, to me."

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes turned now to Selda, seated on the bed, and to Snape, standing to one side. "Can you tell me what happened, Miss Yewmarsh?" he asked quietly.

Selda nodded, and drew a breath. "These three attacked me," she said. "As I was coming back from the greenhouses. The flowers all spilled…. But I was able to Stun them."

"Quite the feat, Miss Yewmarsh," said Dumbledore. "I congratulate you."

"What about Mr. Snape here?" Madame Pomfrey asked, eyes narrowed, as she rather hovered over Selda. "I know he's friends with these hooligans. Did he attack you as well?"

Snape said nothing, but neither did he look at Selda. There was a long pause.

"No," she said, at last, quietly. "He was trying to help."

There was a silence in the room. Madame Pomfrey looked skeptical, Flitwick puzzled, and Dumbledore simply stood quietly, watching.

Snape stared at Selda. What was this? Not forgiveness. He wasn't that naïve.

"But Professor Dumbledore," Selda went on, her voice loud but quavering. "I have something else I need to tell you, to report." She swallowed. "About my father."

"Very well, Miss Yewmarsh," Dumbledore answered. "Would you like to discuss this now, or privately?"

"Now, please," she said. "If Madame Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick would stay as well…." She looked at Snape. "You can go, Severus," she said quietly.

Snape blinked, and took a step back. Madame Pomfrey looked like she was ready to object, but Dumbledore nodded. "I will want to see you in my office in the morning, Mr. Snape," he said, "to discuss the evening's events."

"Yes, sir." Snape took another step backwards. Selda did not look at him again. He clenched his hands into fists and walked down the long hall and out the heavy doors.

He made it down to the dungeons before he had to stop and lean against one of the classroom doors. The trap in his chest was still there, hard and cutting, but he felt he had nothing left for it to bite. _This is what you get for wanting to help…_ sneered the nasty voice. He raised a hand to rub his forehead and noticed that it was trembling. _Stop that_, he ordered it harshly, clenching it into a fist and striking the heavy wooden door behind him.

_It doesn't matter, none of it matters,_ he thought. He would build the walls again. _She can take care of herself now, she's better off without _me_ anyway. And so am I._ Less than a month until N.E.W.T.s and then he would be gone, on to bigger things.

_Better monster than prey,_ he told himself, coldly. _And no more distractions._


	12. Part 2 - Chapter 12

_**Part II**_

**Chapter 1**

Snape carried a tray of healing potions to the hospital wing. He rather hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be there, that he could just leave it. Even though this was the beginning of his second year teaching at Hogwarts, and of contributing to the infirmary potions stock when requested, she still wasn't overly friendly towards him.

Like all the others, she didn't fully trust him. They probably never would. A former Death Eater – his left forearm prickled – was almost as good a social deterrent as part-vampire. Though _that_ at least was still a secret. It didn't matter that his human blood days were over, for good; he didn't even hunt in the forest now, just relied on his potion – no one (besides Dumbledore) knew about any of that anyway. Which was how he wanted it. He kept to himself, and if that made some people suspicious or just unfriendly, well. That's just the way it was.

It was all the same to him, what anyone thought. Only Dumbledore seemed to be different… and that still felt so strange Snape couldn't think about it much. Thank Merlin that Dumbledore didn't insist on some kind of friendly rapport – he said he trusted Snape, but he was never demonstrative about it. It suited Snape just fine.

Dumbledore thought the Dark Lord would return someday, and part of Snape almost hoped for it, hoped for a chance for action, a chance to avenge Lily. The other part… well, what was the point. It wouldn't bring her back. Nothing would.

Strange – he used to welcome the excuse not to think about Lily, to feel nothing. He had once thought that the knot of furious jealousy and despair in his stomach whenever he thought of her – seventh year, the years after – was the worst he could ever feel. A failure of imagination on his part.

The infirmary hall was empty, no sign of the matron. Now to leave the potion in the side workroom. He sidled quietly (certainly _not_ sneaking, he thought ruefully) through the curtained doorway – and stopped, frozen in his tracks.

Selda Yewmarsh looked up at him. She was standing at the worktable in the center of the small room, cutting up some type of root with a silver knife, the flowing black sleeves of her high-necked dress pulled back. Her arms were – tattooed? Or somehow traced with a pattern of gold lines that glittered slightly in the light from the windows behind her, and her long dark hair was half pulled back and streaked with purple. But her face was still the same. Except for the faint scar under her left cheekbone, she seemed barely older than when he had last seen her three years before. It was jarring – he felt absurdly old for a moment, and then as if he were awkward, clueless and fifteen again, sitting under a tree by the lake, showing off the most harmless spell he had ever invented, practically the only one he'd never had to invent a counter-spell to atone for...

For a frozen moment, he almost thought she looked – happy? To see _him?_ Then she jumped a little, looked down at the table, and swore.

"Healing potions for Madame Pomfrey," he said quickly, setting the tray on a nearby shelf. "I'll just—"

"No, no!" Selda had set down the knife and walked quickly around the table, though she stopped abruptly by the near corner. "No, I just cut my finger, I was surprised." She was holding a white handkerchief to her hand, and he could see red spots on it, and smell the blood, faintly. "Please stay," she said.

He wanted nothing, _nothing_ more than to turn around, to flee the room… but he couldn't. He owed her — a debt, an apology, however inadequate…. He inclined his head, and forced himself to take a step forward, away from the doorway.

They stood awkwardly. What now? Snape thought. Talk about the weather?_ You're terrible at small talk, do you know that? _echoed absurdly in his mind. A sudden urge to reach out and touch her cheek made him clench his hands.

"I was so sorry to hear about Lily." Selda broke the silence in a quiet tone.

Snape managed to keep his face still, but his blink was longer than strictly necessary. "Yes," he said.

"She was always so…." Selda trailed off, and then shook her head a little. "I mean, she gave me a name I actually like. She used to talk to me—" she glanced at him, "in the corridors. She asked about you, at first, but then later we would just talk, too. It was almost like having another friend."

Snape felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't talk about this now – even the possibility that Lily might not have completely given up on him was unendurable. And Selda was looking at him far too attentively, as if she wanted to ask if he was all right—

"And you?" he asked, heading her off. "I read… about your father. In the _Daily Prophet_, after his sentencing." It had been just after Snape finished at Hogwarts – life imprisonment in Azkaban.

Selda nodded. "He died there, last winter," she said. She looked at him, almost wryly. "You can say it, if you like."

Snape shook his head, declining; but he thought it, ferociously: _Good riddance._

Selda took a hesitant step forward. "Severus… I never thanked you," she said. "For your help."

He thought, Something I almost did right? But his stomach twisted; he didn't deserve thanks. "You broke the curse yourself," he told her.

She nodded. "But at least you cared enough to try to help, before. That was—"

_Before. _He didn't know what to say, how to begin, but he hurried to speak, to say what needed to be said. "Selda, I – I know it's not enough, I know…." He took a deep breath, and looked, at least for a moment, at her. "But I'm sorry. I'm sorry about that night." He dropped his gaze to the floor. "It was wrong, I was wrong, I betrayed you, and I'm sorry. I know you must hate me. I know there's no way I can take it back, but … I wish I could."

He opened his mouth to say more, but she had moved a little closer, and placed a finger on his lips, interrupting him.

Snape jerked away a little at the touch, and she also pulled her hand back quickly, blushing. His lip was slightly wet – blood from her cut finger. Before he stopped to think, he licked it, and couldn't suppress a tiny shiver. Selda shook her sleeve down over her hand. They stood silent a moment, and then she spoke.

"I appreciate that, Severus," she said, quietly, looking up into his face, though her cheeks were still a little red. "Truly. And I don't hate you."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow and shook his head, almost as if gnats were buzzing around his ears. "You don't have to lie to spare me," he said. "I don't blame you—"

"Since when," she said, her voice low and sardonic, "have I ever lied to you?" A pause. "That I could help."

He rubbed his forehead. "I don't understand… there's no excuse, no justification for what I did, I—"

"Severus," she said, softly. "That is not what forgiveness is about."

Snape had no words, no idea which ones he wanted or needed. But Selda turned back to the table and picked a little at the chopped roots, and continued in a carefully casual tone. "I work at the Ministry," she said. "Well, for now. I came to talk to Madame Pomfrey about a recommendation… but—" She glanced sidelong at him. "But I work as a court scribe. A lot of Death Eater trials these last months. And I heard, I was there – I recorded all of Professor Dumbledore's testimony defending you," she said. She looked at him steadily, her arms crossed, holding the elbows so tightly he could see her hands whitening, one again clutching her handkerchief. "How you changed sides, how you were a spy – I can't tell you what it means to know that, how glad I am…."

But she knew nothing, and he was afraid of what she might say next. He still couldn't seem to find his voice.

"I've never lied to you, Severus, but I never told you how much…" She took a breath. "That I—"

"Don't," he said quickly, cutting her off. Before either of them could do or say anything else, Snape heard the rustle of the curtain behind him, and Madame Pomfrey entered, a sheaf of parchment in her hand.

"Griselda, dear," she said, reading over one, "I hope this will do—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing momentarily as she glanced quickly between the two of them. "Ah, Professor Snape," she said, coolly. "I suppose you have brought the potions that I requested?"

"Indeed," Snape said, trying to speak calmly, indicating the shelf where he had left the tray. "And now if you'll excuse me, I don't wish to intrude on your visit." He nodded to the two women, and then left the room as quickly as he could without actually running, and hurried out of the hall.

But Selda caught up with him in the deserted corridor just outside the doors.

"In such a hurry, then?" she said.

He had to get away. He didn't deserve thanks, and he couldn't bear pity, or… or tenderness. "Go away, Selda," he said, still walking.

"No," she said, and took hold of his sleeve, forcing him to turn and face her. "Severus, what—" Just then there was a noise of many student feet around the corner. Looking around, Selda pulled him into an empty classroom behind them and pushed the door shut.

"Well," he said snidely. "Isn't this familiar. Going to take my wand?"

"Don't you wish." He raised an eyebrow, and she lifted her chin, staring him down. "I don't hurt myself any more. At least not on purpose." She gestured with her cut hand.

"And yet," he said, crossing his arms, trying to loom, which wasn't difficult, given how short she still was; her hand strayed toward her robe pocket, but she stopped and lowered it, "here you are, with _me_. I can't believe you even want to talk to me."

"I do. I heard Dumbledore, I know what it means to leave the Death Eaters, not just leave them, work _against_ them." She shuddered a little. "I know you've changed—"

"Not enough," he snapped. It was time to do this thoroughly, to get it done. He summoned up his coldest voice. "Regardless, it would be better if we didn't see each other again."

Her mouth fell open, and then she said, carefully, "Are you telling me that you don't… care at all anymore?"

"You're assuming that I ever did," he said.

For just a moment she closed her eyes and turned her head slightly, looking for all the world as if he had slapped her. But the next she was staring at him blazingly, her hands in fists at her side. "Don't think you can pull that on _me_, Severus Snape," she hissed at him. "You think I don't know you?"

He gritted his teeth. "You don't know anything." _What I've seen, what I've done…. What I did to _you_ was nothing…._

"I know there's something to know." She stared at him intensely, as if he were glowing, as if he were the only thing she could see, and he felt panicky again. She began, with an effort, "And I know that I—"

"_Don't_," he said again, and even he could hear the desperation in his voice.

"Why _not?_" she demanded, stepping forward. "Why won't you let me just tell you? You're practically sticking your fingers in your ears and humming."

He wanted to bolt, but managed to confine it to a flinch and a sidestep. "I just can't, Selda, I _can't._" She opened her mouth again, but he shook his head. "Just… don't. Not to me. Save yourself the pain."

She stared at him. "What does that mean?"

_If the truth is what it takes…_ he thought. He spoke slowly, looking toward the window, his eyes unfocused.

"You said, that night, that I would never have betrayed Lily, and maybe you were right. But I managed to do it anyway. Before I was a spy for Dumbledore, I gave information to the Dark Lord…."

"And?" Her voice was equally quiet.

"And so it was my fault that he went to kill Lily that night." His voice was steady, but he could barely breathe, his chest ached so badly. No matter how many times he said it, or thought it, told himself over and over…. "It's my fault she's dead."

Her eyes were wide. "Severus, no—"

"It is," he said, flatly. He was still standing – he focused for a moment on staying that way. He _would not_ sit, or lean against the wall, or collapse on the floor. Just stand. He had broken in front of Dumbledore, a year ago, sobbing and screaming and crumpled, and he couldn't let it happen again. "And now…." He looked at her, pleadingly. "Lily is… _was…_ always…." He squeezed his eyes shut. How could he say this to _her?_ But he had to. "I can't," he said, no louder than a whisper. "Not now."

"Not ever." Her voice was soft, but as broken as he felt. He looked at her. She was dry-eyed, as ever, but there was a tiny twitch at the outside corner of her left eye.

"I always knew," she said, and the corners of her mouth turned up a little, but it could not rightly be called a smile. "I knew how you felt about her. I thought… never mind what I thought." She looked away, her cheeks reddening a little. "I'll go."

Every time he thought he couldn't feel worse…. This was exactly why he had to do this, why he couldn't be around her. But now he owed her yet another apology. "Selda, wait—" he began, then looked at his feet and muttered. "What I said before, about… about not caring, I'm sorry, I—" He ground to a halt. But, as usual, she seemed to hear what he didn't say.

"I believe you," she said. "I believe you _do_ care… just not enough." She opened the door to the corridor.

"Selda—"

"Don't," she said, shaking her head, and then she was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 2**

Severus Snape dismissed his last Potions class of the day – Slytherin and Gryffindor, the second years, including the odious Potter junior – with concealed relief. It wasn't even Halloween yet, the term had barely begun, but he was already tired, tired, tired. But then, he was always tired of late, hollow with the lack of energy. And always cold. He tidied his desk and swept out of the Potions dungeon, heading for his office and quarters, and to check on the Blood's-Heart Potion he was brewing there.

It was coming along – the cauldron simmering; bubbles rising rhythmically, like a heart beat; the liquid a deep red, mottled with green. He had made it enough times that if it had been a normal concoction he could have assembled it in his sleep… but the Blood's-Heart was far trickier than most normal potions, even trickier than the Blood-Replenisher Potion it was based on. And it did not store well, keeping for barely a month before losing its value and forcing him to make a fresh batch. It also tasted abominable.

He gave the potion a needlessly forceful stir and slammed the spoon down on the heavy oak tabletop. "Foolish," he snarled at himself out loud – what if he were to knock over the cauldron and spoil the potion? What would he do then? Start over of course – no choice – and he would simply have to suffer in the meantime, growing sicker, weaker, more tired. In the old days he could simply go out… hunting. But of course since Lily's death, all that had changed. He had no real desire to return to those darker times, the years after Hogwarts. But the Blood's-Heart was barely a substitute.

_Breathe, breathe, _he told himself, closing his eyes. For just a moment he allowed himself to lean on the table, allowed his head to fall forward, allowed the dark tide of despair to flow in a little ways. It did him no good, dwelling on the injustice of his life's lot, no good to indulge bitterness about what he had to do, and would always have to do… he knew this, but at times he could not seem to resist it. And if the Dark Lord did ever rise again – as seemed increasingly likely, since the events last year with Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone – and he took up his old post as double agent for Dumbledore, it would just be more of the same, never ending. The hiding, the secrets, the isolation, the wretched potion, the exhaustion, the cold….

The creak of the door behind him, without even a light knock first, made Snape freeze. He could not think of a single person in the school who would be able to identify the potion he was making, let alone why, or who would be able to unveil his careful façade. Still, he turned quickly, ready to coldly interrogate the intruder. The acid words died on his tongue, though, when he saw the figure in the doorway, and his heart did something funny in his chest.

Griselda Yewmarsh. She was still short – and what did you expect? he asked himself. She had perhaps put on a little weight since he had last seen her, rounded and curvy beneath her green lined robes and black dress. A high buttoned collar, long sleeves, her hair dark and swept up to the top of her head. She stepped lightly in and closed the door behind her, casting an interested glance at the stone walls, the desk, the open store cupboard, the jars and shelves around the room, but looking at last straight into his speechless face.

"Your office, Severus? It suits you," she said, smiling, watching him carefully.

He stared at her, suddenly conscious that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it with a snap, but all words still seemed to have disappeared without a trace from his mind.

She showed no discomfort, merely stepped quickly around the room, examining a jar, running a finger along a few books, until she sat down in the chair near his desk.

"A new batch of Blood's-Heart? Have you discovered a way to make it more palatable yet? Or is that a lost cause?" Her smile still turned up more on the one side, as it always had.

Snape at last coughed and moved a step forward. "Griselda," he said, and then his voice seemed to become stuck again.

"Oh, Griselda is it now?" she asked, lightly, still smiling, but it had not been so long that he could not see the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "Why not all the way back to Yewmarsh, if that's how it stands? Must I call you Professor Snape now?"

"Of course not," he protested, as she must've known he would. "Griselda – Selda… I … I'm amazed to see you here." He stepped forward again, his mind racing. _Should I offer her tea? Why has she come back now? How can I possibly be expected to make small talk…. _It had been so long, ten years, why now? _What can she possibly want from me?_

"I would love some tea," she said, as if in answer. Her eyes were laughing at him, and it was infuriating and comfortingly familiar, all at once.

"Uh, certainly," he said, and fumbled in a cupboard for his kettle and cups – mismatched, for he never entertained anyone here.

"As for small talk," she continued, rising from the chair as he put the water on to boil, "well, you know I've never been much for that either." She stepped over to the store cupboard, and took down a couple of items, idly. "You are well stocked, I see. Extract of dragon liver … blueiron seeds … and of course," she gestured to the simmering potion, "plenty of bloodwort."

"I'm the Potions Master now, of course my personal supply is extensive."

"Of course," she said. She had taken the lid off one of the jars and was sniffing the blueiron seeds as if for freshness. "And I had indeed heard. Congratulations." She relidded the jar and set it on the table, near the cauldron, then turned and studied Snape's face, intently.

"And you?" he asked, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "I have only sugar, I hope that's adequate," he added.

"Perfectly fine," she said, and sat in the chair again, accepting the cup and sipping, eyes downcast.

Snape tried to pulled his large desk chair around, wincing at the scraping noise, but it would not fit without moving the entire desk, and he gave it up as a bad job. He sipped his tea, feeling like an idiot.

"I work at St. Mungo's now," she said at last, and he could feel her brown eyes on him again, studying him closely. "Mostly research on remedies, potions, salves… things of that nature."

"That's … good," he said, lamely. "That sounds very…."

"Severus." Her voice was firm and he looked up in alarm. Those eyes, the serious mouth, he knew just what was coming, and he was helpless to stop her saying it. "Severus, you look awful."

He was shaking his head before she had done saying his name. "I'm fine, I'm fine, the potion's almost ready, it's not a problem…."

"You're not fine. Look at your eyes, the circles under them, the lines on your face. Do you ever sleep? And your hands are shaking."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, but set down his cup quickly, and put his hands beneath the desk. "I sleep fine, I will be _fine._"

Griselda laughed at him, gently. "You are such a _child._ And don't lie to me. I haven't forgotten, I helped you invent it. If it were the Blood-Replenisher, it would be practically ready, true, but _that_ potion's still two weeks or more from being finished." She frowned at him. "You look like a good strong wind would topple you right over."

He looked away. "Just tired," he said at last. "A long day."

Silence filled the room, and she studied him until he finally returned her gaze, sullenly. "How long has it been," she said at last, quietly.

"How long has what been?" he said, stubbornly. Who did she think she was, anyway? It wasn't any of her business anymore, none of it.

She made a sound of impatience, and lifted an eyebrow of scorn. "How long has it been since you've had real blood? Months? A year?"

"And where exactly would I get any?" he demanded. "If you remember so much, then you'll remember that Dumbledore is the only person aside from you who knows about me, and I've changed, or don't you remember that either? I don't hunt anymore, I don't hurt people—"

"Of course I know that, don't be an idiot, I—" she broke in.

"And I don't see that it's any of your concern in either case," Snape finished.

Her eyes flashed, and she spoke coldly. "I meant any kind, pigs', rats', anything real. Have you even tried to see if it helps? You did well enough on it in school, before…."

"Before our little… arrangement?" he said witheringly. "_I am fine._" He was _not _going to discuss this. "I fail to see why you are even here, when I've seen nothing of you for ten years. Why did you even come?"

She looked stricken for a moment. Slowly she stood up and leaned on the desk, speaking in a low voice, but her eyes blazing. "If _you_ remember, only one of us expressed the desire to never see the other again ten years ago, and it wasn't me, _Professor_. As for why I am here, I came to Hogwarts to deliver some supplies from the hospital to Poppy, and I thought I would simply try saying hello again, since it has been, in fact, _ten years._ I thought we could at least have a cordial conversation, but perhaps I expect too much." She stopped for a moment as if biting her tongue, breathing angrily.

Snape avoided her eyes, his jaw and fists tight. "Perhaps you do," he snarled. He stood up, pushing the chair back. "I must inform you that I am fine, and your concern is sadly misplaced."

"My concern!" Griselda laughed bitterly. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? I know you have a reflection. You are manifestly _not _fine. Merlin's beard, Severus, you worry me. I work at a _hospital_, for Circe's sake, I've seen—you look like you're running from death, and he's catching you up…." Her voice caught, and when he glanced up, Snape was alarmed (_I will not say terrified,_ he insisted to himself) by the look in her eyes, and dropped his gaze at once.

"It is not your job to take care of me," he said, glaring obstinately at the floor.

She spoke softly. "If not mine, then whose?"

His breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he closed his eyes. He barely felt himself sway on his feet. "Selda, that was a long time ago. Too long. And we were young and stupid, and it wasn't fair to either of us. Especially you."

"Nonsense." When she spoke again, it was from closer, and his eyes flew open to see her standing a bare two feet away, looking up at him. He backed up in alarm, and ended up sitting in his chair again – still taller than her, but only just.

"Selda…." She had unbuttoned her collar, six or seven of the tiny pearl buttons, and her throat was bare, bare to just below the collarbones.

Bare and scarred. His insides twisted at the sight, the old white marks, some simple lines, others more clearly from teeth. He knew exactly why she wore those high-necked collars – and it was his fault. And he couldn't bear it again, even as he felt the old hunger trying to rise inside him, couldn't bear to hurt her again. _It's too late,_ a nasty voice inside said, _already too late. Every time you see her, you hurt her. From the first time you met. One way or another, you always hurt her._

"How long has it been," she said again, quietly, insistently. She was stepping closer, slowly, deliberately.

He answered at last, unwillingly. "You know exactly how long," he said, and she inhaled sharply, touching the fingers on her left hand.

"Severus? Not in ten years? Not a rat, not a rabbit…?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed, clutching the arms of the chair, trying to ignore her proximity, her scent, the memories. He felt faint suddenly and was glad enough to be sitting. He started a little when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Why ever not? No wonder you're in such a state." Her voice was so gentle, it made his throat ache.

"I don't know," he muttered. "I had the potion. I've been busy. It's demeaning to catch rats like some kind of pathetic beast. They don't taste much better than the Blood's-Heart." _And nothing like her_, the nasty voice volunteered, and he gritted his teeth and ducked his head.

"Oh Severus," she sighed. "Will you ever stop hating yourself? Even a little?"

He felt bewildered. "I… That's not what's…."

She shook her head and placed a finger on his lips. "You know lying to me doesn't work."

The touch made his head spin again, and he turned his head away. "Selda," he tried again. "Selda, you should really—"

She cut him off so fast and angrily that his eyes popped open in surprise. "Go? Leave you alone, again? Who do you think I am? I've stayed away, I accepted that…" she swallowed hard and glanced away for a moment, "that you'll never be able to love me the way you loved her—" he flinched; she looked up again, straight into his eyes, "The way you still love her. I moved on. And then I come back, and look at you! I don't think you could even fight me off in this state."

For a fleeting moment he wanted to laugh – _and when could I ever?_ – but it passed. "Don't be ridi—" he began to say, indignantly, but suddenly she moved, she was sitting across his lap and he was frozen, terrified of her, of himself, of what would happen next. He could smell her, the lavender of the perfume she always wore, her sweat, the tea on her breath; feel the solid weight of her, her hands on his arms; hear her breathing, a little shallow; he could see the dark tendrils of hair at the base of her neck, and her dark eyes, locked on his.

"Please, Severus. Let me help you."

He could feel the ravenous hunger, the thirst, raging up like a swollen river, a sea, threatening to carry him away. Hoarsely, desperately, he spoke, "It's been too long. It's not safe. I'm not safe."

She took his face in her hands, her fingers warm along his jawline. "Severus," she said, her eyes staring into his own, "Severus Snape, I trust you." He closed his eyes, his head reeling, and she slid her cheek along his, her neck pressing to his lips, and whispered in his ear, "I trust you."

It was too much, too much, and all at once. Like all the walls in his mind bursting, with a groan, he felt the hunger rush in, fill his brain and body till nothing else was left. His fangs sank into the side of her neck. He heard her stifled cry but didn't care, couldn't care, his mouth was full of her blood, and it had been so long, _so long_. His hands were on her back, pulling her closer, and he was swallowing, gulping, and his senses were sharpening, as they always had. He felt her hands, one in his hair, the other at the back of his neck, and her breath at his ear, her whisper, though he barely registered it, _drink, darling, my poor starving love, drink,_ and he could hear her heartbeat, and his own – one growing stronger, the other stuttering, weakening….

He froze, his eyes flying open. There was no voice in his ear now, and he realized that her head was lolling against his shoulder. The hunger clamored for more, but he stopped, released her, held her head up with his hand. "Selda?" he whispered. But she said nothing, her eyes closed, her mouth open slightly, neck still trickling blood.

"No, no, no no no no." Snape swept his desk clear with one arm, then lifted her and laid her gently down on its top. She seemed to weigh almost nothing now – but then the strength that seemed to course through his body could easily account for that. "Selly, Selly, please…" he pleaded with her.

_Get a grip,_ he ordered himself. Putting his ear to her mouth, he could feel the faintest stirring of breath there. He gasped in relief, and then looked up. He didn't even know if she would make it to the hospital wing in this state, but … his eyes lighted on the cauldron. Of course. The Blood's-Heart needed longer, but the potion was all but ready now for this. Rushing to the table, he saw the jars Selda had left there earlier – blueiron seeds. Extract of dragon liver. The final ingredients for Blood-Replenisher.

He ladled some of it into a cup and added the seeds – two, three, four – and five drops of the liquid. The potion flashed white light – exactly right – and he brought it over to her, lifted her head and shoulders in one arm, and tried to get it down her throat. The first sip seemed to run back out, but he repositioned her and tried again.

"Please, Selly, please." He couldn't seem to quiet himself, to stop begging. "Please, you have to swallow, Selly, please do it, I can't…" His voice broke in a sob.

_I can't bear it again, I can't have killed you, too._

The third sip seemed to stay in, and he did the same again. Suddenly she gasped, coughed weakly, and even turned her head away. Relief flooded his body and his knees nearly gave out; he had to sit abruptly on the edge of the chair behind him. Her eyes flickered open slightly, and the corner of her mouth turned up, just a little.

"Selly?"

She took a deep breath, barely keeping her eyes open. "Tastes… awful…." she whispered.

He gave a choked laugh, grabbed her hand, pressed it to his mouth. "I know," he said, "I know. And you'll have more now, no arguments." He lifted her up again, pressing the cup to her lips. She sighed, but drank, eyes closed.

She finished the dose. In a little while he would give her more potion, but for now— Snape fished a handkerchief out of a desk drawer to press over the nasty neck wound – worse by far than any of the older ones. He felt such self-loathing at the sight that it made his stomach turn, and his voice angry when he spoke.

"What were you _thinking_, Selda?" He stopped, trying to lighten his tone, trying not to scold, but the fear and disgust roiling inside him made it difficult. "You could've…. Wait." He looked at the work table, the ingredients laid out, where _she_ had left them. Exactly the ones he'd needed. He looked back at her, and her eyelids were open, if a little drooping. "You…." She had _planned_ this. "I can't believe you."

She smiled a little. "I had every confidence in you."

He turned away, preparing another cup of potion. "You have clearly learned nothing over the years."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" she said airily.

"Barely," Snape said, trying to match her tone, but his voice shook a little. "I should take you up to the infirmary."

Selda looked amused. "Is that wise?"

He thought about the hypothetical scene for a moment, and blanched, putting a hand on his head. "Oh, Merlin. Poppy Pomfrey is going to kill me."

Selda laughed, and it sounded better, almost a real laugh. "A distinct possibility. She wanted to, last time, when I…." she trailed off.

"Last time?" He brought the cup back to the desk and looked at her.

"When I went back to the infirmary, after we talked, and… and I cried on her shoulder." Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Selda shook her head. "No more apologies. I know."

He sighed, and looked down at the potion in his hands. She should wait a little while before taking more, and this wasn't the best, nor the most comfortable place. He set the cup down, out of the way, and lifted Selda in his arms. She was still mostly limp, and leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. He carried her through the door in the corner, back to his quarters, and laid her carefully on the bed in his small room, propping her head and shoulders up a little with his pillow and an extra blanket, covering her with another. He conjured a soft light on the bedside table, and went back for the potion in the office.

He thought she might be asleep when he returned, but her eyes were open, looking around the room. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, nodding toward a shelf on the wall where a small, square, dark wooden box sat. He nodded, and she smiled. "I still have the phoenix," she said quietly.

His chest hurt. "I thought you might have burned it or something."

"No, no. Well," she admitted, "I did toss it in the bottom of my trunk for a year or so." She smiled at him. "It still sings beautifully."

He drew the one hard-backed chair in the room over to the side of the bed and helped her drink more of the potion, and surreptitiously tried to look at the wound on her neck at the same time. He probably had some dittany somewhere in his office….

"Ecchhh," Selda said when she'd finished the cup.

"At least one more," he said. "But in a while. You can rest first if you like."

She nodded, but did not close her eyes, studying his face instead. After a long moment, she said, "Severus, are you – are you all right? I worry about you." She whispered, "You seem so alone."

His eyes stung a little, suddenly, but he swallowed it down. _Am _I _all right?_ "I like it that way." His voice was harsher than he intended.

She was probably too tired to get mad. "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "I know, I know. I'm just trying to say… you know I only had one friend my whole life, too. But now there are people around me – Poppy, friends at work, even someone, another wizard I just met at the hospital—" She stopped, her cheeks coloring slightly.

He felt a twist of jealousy. _Really? _he asked it incredulously, disdainfully. _Isn't it a bit late for that?_

"The point is," she continued, "that I have people in my life now. And I remember what it was like without any. And… I worry about you."

Several things fought within him – bitterness that she was able to move on, when it was impossible for him; a wave of longing for how much he missed Lily – and Selda, too; despair and regret and pain for all the terrible choices he had made in the past, and how it seemed things would never get better. He couldn't help letting some of it show on his face, and of course, she saw it.

"I'm sorry." She smiled sadly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come… but when I came in here and saw you – you don't understand how you looked. Poppy said you seemed under the weather lately—"

He raised an eyebrow. _Did she?_

"But now… at least you don't look like you're dying anymore. And I'm glad."

Now that he wasn't panicking, he had to admit to himself that he did feel better. His brain felt awake, he felt strong and alert and even warm for the first time in ages. The difference was staggering.

Selda reached over and took his hand. "Severus, you have to promise me – promise me that at least you'll start hunting in the forest again. Or get blood deliveries from the butcher in Hogsmeade, or _something_. Please." Her grip on his hand was surprisingly strong, considering. "No more punishing yourself."

He snorted with derision, but then shrugged and said, "I promise I'll work out something about the blood."

"Good," she said, her voice just a murmur. Her eyes closed, but she held onto his hand.

"Selly?"

"Hmm?" she responded, faintly, eyes still shut.

Snape watched her face: her delicate eyelids, the old scar under her left cheekbone, strands of hair over her forehead, her mouth (always so sad). He wanted to reach out, to stroke her cheek, to smooth her hair, so much that for a moment his unoccupied hand twitched and began to move of its own accord. He squeezed it shut and dropped it back down. It would be… too much like a promise that he couldn't truly keep.

And why couldn't he? For the briefest of moments he let himself imagine… but there were a million reasons why not, starting with Lily, with his own past, his future, with Selda's present…. Snape could barely care less about almost anyone he knew, but for her… maybe he could do the right thing, for once. He traced her lips with his gaze. He wanted… for her to smile, even if he didn't get to see it.

Is this what Dumbledore has been trying to say all along? he wondered. He would have to think about that later.

Selda's breaths were slow and measured now. He tried to extricate himself, but her grip was still too tight. He sat for a long while in the dim glow, listening to her sleep, before her hand relaxed enough that he could draw his own away and go.

#

Selda emerged from the back an hour or so later, still a little pale, but walking, and looking far better than before. She was carrying the dittany and the potion cup, empty, that he had left on the bedside table earlier while she slept. Snape turned from the worktable where he had been sealing a flask of Blood-Replenisher. She set the items on his desk and stood at the end of it, facing him, a few, unbridgeable feet between them. Her collar was buttoned again.

"I should go," she said quietly. "Unless – unless you want me to stay?"

He swallowed. "Better not," he said, just as quietly.

She nodded, then said defiantly, with a flash in her eyes, "I'm not sorry." He said nothing, but handed her the flask he had just sealed. "I'll see a Healer in a week or so," she said. "Don't worry."

_I always worry, _he thought, but only nodded.

"And I have your word? On the blood?"

He nodded again. "I promise."

"I'll come back to see you again," she warned him. "You'd best take better care of yourself."

He nodded. "I will. Send me an owl," he said. Maybe that way I won't interfere too much, he thought.

She nodded, and went to the door.

"Selda…." She looked back at him. For once he spoke simply, without bitterness, without guilt, without self-pity. "You deserve more, better than… this. Than me."

Tears shone in her eyes a moment. She blinked, then lifted her chin defiantly. "Perhaps more," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "But there is no better."


End file.
